


Dear Agony

by natashasbarton



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers Feels, Character Death, Clint Feels, Clintasha - Freeform, Deathfic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Loss, Lost Love, Natasha Feels, OTP Feels, Oops, Protective Avengers, Protective Clint Barton, Self-Sacrifice, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Widowed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5622184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natashasbarton/pseuds/natashasbarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton have been married for almost three years now, and yet continue to work as active Avengers together. But when a mission puts both of their lives in danger, tragic events result in the death of an Avenger. Following the team's loss, Steve works to try and rebuild what they had before. However for one Avenger, it is impossible to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights to characters and plot points go to Marvel.
> 
> Story title is based off the song "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin.
> 
> Warning: Possible character deaths in future chapters. Please do not hate if the story is sad.

Chapter 1: Hollow

_It had been a little over a year since Shield's fall to Hydra, and Nick Fury and the Avengers were still out, fighting to bring down the Nazi developed agency. Clint Barton, Hawkeye, and his partner, and secret wife, Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow, are sent into an old Shield base to try and recover old records on alien artifacts that could help Hydra develop weapons of mass destruction. Going into the mission, the two highly trained assassins knew their ultimate objective, get the records. Once arriving at the base the two are ambushed by an unexpected battalion of Hydra troops. Natasha fights her way to the base's database and manages to download the records while Clint tries to contact Shield for back up and an extraction team._

* * *

There Natasha stood with Hydra enemies advancing towards her from every side, and not a single person to help her fight them off. She had made it to the top level of the hijacked Shield building only to be ambushed by over thirty Hydra troops. Of course being the Black Widow she could handle her own, but seeing she was already injured and facing thirty men, she began to question how long she could hold them off.

Gritting her jaw as she ruthlessly dodged the flying bullets, she slid to the hard floor in a split second and shot her arms up, and as she did released a rain of pounding bullets, shooting anyone who advanced towards her. They all shot at her, kicked her, stabbed at her, or attacked her by throwing punches. Being a skilled hand to hand combatant she easily was able to keep them at bay, kicking them square in the head and knocking several men out before she sent bullets through their skulls. She had seen up close what Hydra was capable of, they were ruthless and merciless. She wasn't here to give pity to them, no, they were here to kill her, and she would do the same.

While she was plowing through them either by bullet or by her own hand, more soldiers rushed onto that top level where Natasha was, as Hydra was planning to take out the Black Widow once and for all. She had her aim on one man, when suddenly she saw another man aiming at her out of the corner of her eye. Acting at lightning quick speed, the young assassin ducked the bullet that was fired right over her head as she pulled the trigger and shot the man. It was as she did that she extended one of her legs and easily tripped another advancing soldier, only to shoot him in the head before he fell completely. She knew she couldn't take them all on, and as she aimed to shoot another man she felt a sudden thrust of searing pain run right into her side.

Glance downward quickly, she saw a stream of thick red blood from a gunshot seep out of her side. Since she was moving as the bullet hit her it didn't seem to have caused immediate fatal damage, but it surely weakened her for soon an endless gush of crimson blood ran from her side. It slowed her down, and with every move, whether it be to shoot or dodge an oncoming bullet, a wave of pain ran through her. Her eyes grew bloodshot, and sweat began to race down her brow as she bared through the hot and intense pain. With every movement she made, the bullet lodged itself deeper into her side and the gnarly wound opened more. She wouldn't allow herself to go out like this, gunned down out of her own weakness. No, not when Clint was relying on her to hold these troops back. She knew if they got past her and Clint didn't know, he may as well be dead as well, and so she held on. Using her pure rage and hate for her ruthless enemy to power right through the waves of pain, she fought on.

It was as the russian fought on that she realized it didn't seem the reinforcements of Hydra soldiers were slowing, and if things were going as they should have Clint would have contacted Shield by now. Yet there was still no sign of the agency or Clint, and she couldn't afford to try and call him on her own, because if she stopped her fight for a second she'd die before she could make the call. It was as she felt another bullet break her right leg as it run right through her flesh and into her bone, did the agile assassin collapse completely onto the floor.

As she hit the ground, her entire body seemed to succumb to the pain. Her vision was growing blurry and distorted as she was on the verge of going unconscious due to the blood loss. She managed to prop herself up against a wall even with the bullet wound in her side opening wider and her leg broken. Her eyes grew sharp and cold as she lifted her head and tried to see around her, but everything moved in slow motion as she was about to black out.

It seemed the gunfire had stopped for now, and more than half the troops had left the room. She assumed this was because they thought the battle done, and only a few men were needed to finish her off. She was completely unable to stand, and as she sat up against the wall with her strength fading, it took all she had to defend herself. As the leader of the Hydra unit slowly approached her, a menacing and vile grin spreading across his face, she quickly whipped her arm upward and fired two shots at the man beside him; killing the "henchman" instantly. Realizing the Black Widow wasn't completely crippled, the leader raced forward and kicked her square in the head, which left her with a bleeding gash in her temple. He then turned around to shoot her gun right out of her hand, but of course being a master assassin she never had just one weapon. As she reached for her smaller pistol, the man lunged forward and dug a knife into her hand.

She screamed as the weapon pierced through her skin and deep into her small hand, a steady stream of red blood trickled out of the wound. The man who stabbed her had a scarred face and a devilish look in his eyes as his hard boot kicked right into her injured side once again. This made her wince and grunt in pain and topple over onto the ground that was now soaked with her own blood. She gasped for breath, her lungs heaving for oxygen as she started to cough up blood. The red haired women expressed nearly none of the pain she was actually in as she held their brutal stares. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction they craved, even if they were to kill her right then and there she would never show them weakness.

The men that crowded around her slowly backed up, they all had looks of satisfaction on their face for thinking they actually would bring an end to The Black Widow. The leader glared without a drop of empathy in his eyes as he cocked his gun and raised the pistol, aiming directly at her forehead.

"Any last words, Widow?" He nearly growled as his finger was ready to pull the trigger.

With a sparking fire in her eyes, the assassin spoke sharply, her voice cold and spiteful,

"иди к черту! Even if you kill me, it won't matter in the end. I'm just one agent out of many, you'll never win."

The men simply chuckled brutally, but just as he was about to fire the bullet he suddenly jerked up stiffly as a sharp point of an arrow that was shot into his back came out through his chest. Blood soaking his uniform as the leader fell to the ground instantly, everyone's attention and gunfire was turned towards the one who let loose the arrow.

The archer was none other than Clint, who thankfully had come back for Natasha, even though his orders prevented him from doing so. This was nothing new, seeing as both Clint and Natasha were notorious for stubbornly breaking orders to come to each other's aid. Natasha didn't know how he knew she was in trouble, but relief had filled her the moment she saw the arrow hit its target, and as the man fell she extended her arm and took the gun from Clint's victim to use it to help him shoot down the remaining Hydra soldiers. Since most of them fled the room when Natasha was shot, it was fairly easy to take down the rest of them.

It was right after Clint released an arrow into the last standing Hydra soldier's skull that he ran over to Natasha, who still sat propped up against the wall as blood continued to run out of her side. The rage that had filled her eyes in combat seemed to fade instantly the moment she looked upon Clint, who was now kneeling down right beside her, his grey blue eyes filled with worry as he placed a strong yet gentle hand carefully on her wound as he pushed down steadily to try and get the bleeding to slow. She wasn't ashamed to let out a small wince of pain as he pressed on her wound, after all they were both injured, and she never was ashamed to admit her pain around Clint.

Clint wasn't in best shape himself. He appeared to have a gunshot wound in his left shoulder and a large cut on his upper arm, which seemed to be almost down to the bone. Yet he could still fight and shoot just as well as always, and didn't seem to be slowed down by his injuries. He steadily tried to catch his breath, but blood continued to pour out of his deep wound and stained his black shield suit. It was obvious the archer was exhausted, but his steady pressure on Natasha never weakened. He couldn't help but cock the smallest of smiles at the thought of being with her, when moments ago he thought he wouldn't make it out of the building alive. His shoulder wound didn't seem to extreme, but he did lose a lot of blood from each injury. He also had several bruises and smaller lacerations, but he ignored it all to tend to Natasha.

She was in much worse shape than he was, and seemed to be on the verge of passing out. Blood gushed endlessly from the gunshot wound to her side, and while he was applying a great amount of pressure to the wound, the bleeding didn't slow. Her other injuries were not helping either, for the longer she sat there, the longer she could feel her strength slowly leaving her. Clint eventually settled to keeping one steady hand on her side as he let his other hand raise to very gently touch her cheek.

"Nat, you really got yourself beat up here...I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like." He said with a slight dry sarcastic tone in his voice, yet it was also loving and worried.

While she was in a lot of pain, she couldn't help let out a huff of what was meant to be a laugh as her emerald green eyes met his storm grey ones. Finding a simple comfort in his gaze, she spoke up in a strained yet equally as sarcastic voice,

"Well, all the other guys are dead. Clint, did you contact Shield?"

He looked out of the glass window towards the war torn sky before looking back her and answering in his usually calm yet still rather gruff tone,

"Yeah, they said they are sending several jets as reinforcements, but who knows how long it's going to take for them to get here. I couldn't reach Fury, but the agent I talked to said to blow the building if we can't hold it."

Raising a thin eyebrow she looked up at him and remarked quickly,

"But if you haven't noticed...You didn't blow it."

He let out a small chuckle and stood up to retrieve the arrows from his victims after feeling assured Natasha was alright to sit by herself. He said quickly as he put the arrows back into his quiver,

"Well of course not, we're still in here after all. I managed to program a detonator, and if for some reason we have to blow it, well one click of the button and this building will go up in flames."

He walked back to her and locked gazes with her for a moment. It hurt Clint to see Natasha so weakened, and there was an obvious sense of protection in the archer towards his partner. Natasha was struggling to simply stay awake, and so Clint once again kneeled down next to her and gently put his hands around her face as he spoke softly,

" Hey, stay with me Nat. We're going to be alright, I promise you. But, you just gotta hang on just a little longer. Hopefully when Shield does get here, whatever is left of this Hydra unit will be so busy trying to find those files we can get away easily."

Natasha suddenly seemed to regain some life in her as she shot him an almost disapproved look and spoke up quickly in her usual fiery tone,

"And that's exactly what we DON'T want them to do. Damn it Clint, if they get those god damn files, this whole mission would be for nothing. We'd be better off blowing the building up now while we still can."

Clint shook his head and rebuked her instantly as he threw his hands up, and he said quickly yet all with a certain glare of love in his eyes,

"Before you completely freak out, let me finish. I said they would, 'try to find those files.' I don't think they ever will though. See, why it took me so long to get back up here and "rescue you" is because I put an encryption code on all the files under the name Shield gave us at the beginning of this mission. Only Alpha Shield Agents will be able to open it now, so it's safe from Hydra, even if they can get their hands on the file itself."

She went silent and nodded quickly before saying with a small amount of doubt in her eyes,

"Not bad Clint, though I was handling the situation just fine so I think "rescue" is a bit of an overstatement. But...what good will that do if the building blows like Shield told you to do. The files will be destroyed anyway."

Clint gave a small smirk and put his hand in his suits pocket only to pull out a Shield USB drive, and placed it into the palm of her hand.

"That's exactly why I put the files on this drive, because we probably will have to blow the building, but I say we try and get out of it first. I'd rather not die today," he said as he slung his black bow over his back and then sat down next to her again.

He couldn't help but place a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he looked from her broken leg to her gunshot wound. His brows furrowed and his eyes grew sternly worried as he began to look through his belt and combat suit to try and find anything to help her. When he couldn't find anything he quickly resorted to tearing off a small piece of fabric from his suit, and then used it to bandage up her hand, which was bleeding from where she was stabbed. Natasha smiled softly and placed a hand on Clint's shoulder in return as she pushed him gently as she said,

"You worry too much, I'll be fine Clint. You've seen me much worse conditions that's for sure."

"Well I'm not taking any chances, this battle isn't over yet." He said protectively as he finished wrapping her hand with the makeshift bandage.

Clint had an uneasy feeling that something wasn't right. Why would Hydra just leave them up here? Did they not know that they were still alive? Before Clint could try and put together what was going on, the door was kicked open and over a dozen of Hydra soldiers flooded into the room and surrounded the two assassins.

Clint tightened his jaw as he leapt to his feet, cursing to himself for letting them get the best of both him and Natasha. Quickly grabbing an arrow right out of his quiver and pulling it into place on his bow, he moved quickly to aim and shoot it at the soldier in the front. Clint stood in front of Natasha, aiming quickly to try and drive the group of enemy soldiers back and away from her. While one soldier fell by the archer's hand, another shot right at the Russian assassin who lay half unconscious behind the archer. He looked over the crowd of soldiers as he loaded another arrow at the same time he moved quickly to dodged a bullet. Just as he dodged one bullet, another bullet nicked hit him in his other good arm.

He grunted as the force of the bullet knocked him off his feet. He looked around and a haunting realization grew over him. Hydra wasn't stupid, they were waiting for reinforcements to engage the two Shield agents so to ambush them and make certain they both died. There was no way for him fight out of this, there was simply too many of Hydra's forces for Clint to take on alone.

As Clint continued to try and fight, an enemy soldier shot back at Natasha. Clint raced forward, trying to come between her and the bullet but he wasn't quick enough. It hit Natasha right in the chest, and she fell over lifelessly as soon as she was shot.

Realizing his wife could may as well be dead, rage filled the archer as he shot the soldier who shot her, and then ducked beneath the gunfire to make his way over to Natasha. She laid lifeless in a pool of her own blood, her face pale and eyes firmly closed. Clint didn't even have time to check if she was breathing. Acting quickly, he held his bow with one hand and picked her up with the other.

He knew he didn't have many choices, but he knew if he didn't get Natasha out of "here" she would die. There were too many Hydra troops to fight, and if he tried to hang on any longer they would both die. He ran with Natasha still firmly in his arms right towards the glass windows behind him, and with putting his shoulder forward, so to break the glass with his weight, he turned himself to shield her from the flying shards of glass. As he crashed through the glass the men open fired, and at least two bullets hit the archer before he completely fell out.

Gravity began to pull Clint downward quickly, and yet to him everything seemed to move in slow motion. The crash of the window and the several gunshots were enough to make the nearly deaf assassin lose his sense of hearing, and so he couldn't hear the rapid force of the wind as he fell. Everything around him moved in a warped slow motion, he couldn't get a grasp of where he was or even how fast he was approaching the ground. The only instinct he had was to hold Natasha close, because with the force of him falling so rapidly, he was afraid she would slip through his grasp. Despite being shot and cut in the arm he held her with, it seemed his injuries had no effect on his efforts to securely hold her.

His initial plan was to shoot an arrow at the building above to land somewhat safely but he then realized how stupid and idiotic that plan was, because how could he couldn't shoot with one arm. The ground was approaching quickly, he had but seconds left to act. He felt a sudden wave of regret and dread fall over him as he knew the almost certain outcome of his actions, and for a moment he froze. After all he and Natasha had been through, he didn't understand how they had got to his point. Here they were, plummeting towards what would seem to be an instant death for both of them. Was this always destined to happen? Was this fated the day Fury sent Barton to go kill her, that Clint would find himself defenselessly sending both himself and his wife to their death?

It may have been because of the fact that he couldn't hear the rush of the wind, or maybe it was because he was too numb to feel fear or adrenaline, but Clint suddenly forgot where he was. Instead of seeing the sky above him, he saw quick images from the very depths of his past. He saw a small wooden boy, a humble and peaceful farm, the physical abuse of his father and even brother, the red hair of the KGB assassin he was sent to kill, the illuminating streetlights of Budapest, the sensation of his very mind being controlled as he fought the woman he loved, and finally the ivory white wedding dress on the beautiful red haired and emerald eyed Russian.

The odds were against him in, but in a sudden protective act he realized he had to try. He had vowed the day he fell in love with her that he would protect her, and he wasn't about to break that promise now. He had to do everything he could in these final seconds to try and save Natasha's life.

He let go of his cold metallic bow and used that other hand to grab the detonator. He tucked it into his palm, his hand ready to squeeze the button as he then wrapped his other arm around Natasha tightly.

Even with every force of physics working against him, he managed to turn himself around completely so when he hit the ground he would land on his back. He used his last bit of strength to press Natasha close to his chest. Even with the chaos around him as he fell, he could feel the very shallow raise of her chest, and so knew everything he was doing may be worth it after all. When he jumped, a bullet had found its mark in his back, and so as he fell the bullet only lodged itself deeper and deeper, sending pain so extreme Clint feared he would black out and let go of Natasha. Only a few more seconds, he only had to bear the pain for a few more seconds.

While he couldn't see it, he somehow knew his time was about up. A small tear streamed from his loving grey blue eyes, as he quickly kissed the top of Nat's head and whispered softly,

"Мне так жаль , Нат . Я люблю тебя."

He then squeezed the detonator in his hand which ignited the building violently as the sky was filled with black smoke. The force of the explosion made their fall that much more lethal, and within a millisecond of Clint destroying the building, they both hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

  _ **Author's Note:**_ I am a long time user of both Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, and I primarily write ClintxNatasha based fanfictions. I am very new to this site, so I apologize if I'm missing something when I publish this, or my "account" looks rather boring, any tips on how to work this site would be great. I wanted to take my favorite work so far and publish it on here. It ended on a cliffhanger, but I have five full chapters already written for this fanfiction. I will likely update this sometime next week, and every week publish a new chapter. Any feedback would be much appreciated, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for taking the time to read this. 

 

 

 


	2. Break My Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this fanfiction and will continue to enjoy this second chapter. This chapter was very hard to write because there's a lot that happens all at once, and there's characterization that I was working very hard to get right. After all, I love these characters and aim to write them as well as I can. This chapter is a lot shorter than the first one, and may be the shortest chapter of this entire fanfiction. Nevertheless, I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read this, and hope you enjoy.

With a blurred vision and a dull yet constant ringing in her ear, Natasha slowly became conscious as she tried to comprehend where she was. Sirens and gunfire blared in the distance, and as she tried to catch her breath she inhaled the smoke from the burning building close by. Her chest felt heavy and tight, and with every inhale a burning pain ran through her. Surrounded by what felt like rubble from the building that had just blown, Natasha felt as if the world was spinning around her as she tried to stay awake through the delusion caused by blood loss. Her bloodshot emerald green eyes watered as she clenched her jaw, because every movement she made sent shooting agonizing pain through her petite body.

  Even with a near fatal amount of blood loss, Natasha was starting to comprehend her surroundings and realized she was miraculously still alive. She had no idea where she was, or how she got here, because the last thing she remembered was being shot as the Hydra reinforcements surrounded her and Clint. Now as she tried to get her bearings, but all she could see was dark smoke mixed with a blood red sky as the clouds reflected the flames of the burning building. All she could smell was metal, smoke, fire, blood, and gunpowder, and all she could hear was the droning ring in her ears.

  As her vision cleared enough, she noticed she was on top of Clint's chest, and that he laid on the ground that was littered with debris and rubble of the blown building. Confusion filled her as she tried to make sense of why they were no longer in the building, but the pain was enough to make her ignore this confusion for now. As she tried to get up she could feel her body aching, crying out for the pain to stop. Submitting to this pain, she laid there for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to drive away the weakness that was slowly striping away her strength. She wanted to scream, yet didn't have the energy to, so she simply closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and buried her bruised and bloodied head into Clint's shoulder.

She had figured he was the one to get them out of the building, but had passed out shortly after he got them out. As she laid there the gunshot wound in her side began to open up, and as she bled more her whole body began to tremble violently. Even through all this, she could tell something wasn't right. While her head was buried right into Clint's shoulder, he didn't flinch or move, despite having a wound near his shoulder blade. His chest, which should have been gasping for breath, was motionless. This was when she realized, he wasn't breathing. Jerking up in alert, by instinct the young assassin reached for his hand, but it took almost all her strength to lift the weight of his lifeless arm. It all started to come at her, each realization hitting her like a bullet as she held his still hand tighter. Finally, as if desperate, Natasha dared to turn her head, her eyes wide with fear, as she placed her right ear on his chest.

While her ears rang from the force of the explosion, she knew she would have been able to hear his heartbeat, even if it was the most faintest noise, she would have heard it. But, she heard nothing more than the ringing in her ear and silence that came with his still heart.

Natasha didn't know it, but she was slowly going into shock. Her breath grew quick and her skin turned pale. Through this she mustered all the strength she had to get off his chest, as she felt her form slide onto the cold and bloodied ground. She placed a hand lightly on his chest, desperate to find any sign of life, but there was nothing but a looming stillness.

She held his hand, never letting go nor lessening the strength she applied to her hold. His hand was like a weight in her small palm, and blood stained the silver ring on his finger. Everything she saw was slowly growing intense and overwhelming, with every haunting detail sinking into her memory. The crimson blood suddenly looked bright red, and the smoke seemed to turn the air pitch black. Through these delusions and hallucinations, she gripped his shoulder as hard as she could, shaking it firmly, determined to snap him out of his unresponsive status. He remained still, and every attempt she made to wake him was in vain. She knew what had happened, why Clint was not breathing and unresponsive, but she refused to put two and two together. She refused to even think that could have happened to the man who had always been there for her, to the only person who mattered in her life.

  
She reached her thin and hand outward to feel his neck, which was slightly cold like the rest of his body. She held a small glimpse of hope that she would feel a steady beat under her fingers, even if it was a faint one. As she gently pressed down onto his neck, she felt nothing but a still pulse.

  
She didn't have the strength to cry out his name, nor did she want to. She didn't want to be reminded that this lifeless man was her husband, Clint Barton. After all they had been through, after how many life threatening situations they faced together, she couldn't accept that it would end like this. How did it happen? Did he suffer long, or was it quick and painless? If he didn't come back to save her, would he still be alive? Could she have saved him if she wasn't so weak? These questions slowly drained her of any strength and sanity she had left. Looking at her hands, they began to shake as she realized they were covered with her husband's blood. His blood, that was spilt because of his sacrifice to keep her alive.

The guilt was more painful than any physical wound, and unlike the wounds that would simply become scars, this pain would never fade. She would have to live with the fact that Clint was gone because she wasn't strong enough for the rest of her life.

Her fiery instinct of survival was suddenly extinguished as her will to live faded in an instant. Her head fell into her bloodied hands, as a sense of hopelessness fell over her. She felt as if she too were about to cease from existence, that her heart would follow his in an abrupt stop. Despite the fact she was mentally breaking down, her body still held the strength to keep going.

She tried to get up, but wasn't able to lift herself due to the broken leg, so she propped up against a piece of rubble. She felt her breaths growing short, but as she sat up against the charred rubble she was able to take in in gasps of oxygen easier. After taking a moment to regain her breath she gently moved Clint's still form onto her lap. There was a trail of blood as she moved him, because of the two gunshot wounds in his back. While attempting to move him, she noticed his head roll back as she lifted him off the ground. Carefully placing a hand under  his neck in a natural act to support him, she realized that his neck was snapped in half. Seeing that the back of his head was covered in blood, she quickly shut her eyes. To see the man she loved in such condition would have been enough to drive her to the brink of insanity, and she would never be able to unsee the gruesome sight. She didn't realize that it was the force of their fall that had broken his neck and shattered his skull, killing him instantly. That he had broken her fall, and by doing so, gave his own life for hers.

Even with her eyes closed, everything she had saw remained clear in her memory. She suddenly lost all her sense of hearing, and couldn't catch her breath. Bracing herself against the rubble and Clint, she violently began to cough up blood. Opening her eyes as soon as she was able to regain her breath, she still tried to make sense of it all. Gently lowering his head onto her lap, she began tear up as she looked down at him. Cold blood ran from his nose and the corners of his parted lips. The worst part was that his eyes were not closed, but stared lifelessly up at the sky.

Staring into his empty eyes, the reality of it all finally hit her. His eyes were dark, dilated, and dull, nothing like the radiant grey blue gaze she was so accustomed to seeing. While they had once conveyed such strong expressions, they were now glossed over and blank of all emotion and life. It was as she stared into his dead eyes, that she understood he was gone.

  
  Several tears rolled down her bruised cheek as she lovingly closed his eyes. Her chest shook as she continued to silently cry, and she used all her remaining strength to hold him close to her. She gently ran her hand through his blonde brown hair, and her eyes looked down sadly at his pale and lifeless face. She continued to lightly stroke his hair, because she didn't know what else to do. She felt the need to comfort him, because he would always do the same for her when she was hurt. But Natasha knew Clint wasn't hurt. He didn't feel her soft hand upon his head, trying to draw away all this pain. He couldn't feel anything. She held him close to her chest and softly cried into his blonde brown locks as she cradled his head. She wasn't in control of her actions anymore, as her grief and love that seemed to drive everything the cold hearted Russian assassin did.

She physically couldn't get up to find help, and her communication link was broken. Reaching down onto Clint's belt to try and use his, she noticed it was also broken as well. She could do nothing but sit there, her own condition growing worse as she lost more blood. She felt a wave of numb pain rush over her and soon felt as if she was paralyzed. Her head started to drop downward as her shoulders rounded. She couldn't hold herself up, and she felt her vision become blurred and dark. Yet for the last few seconds she remained conscious she never let go of Clint. The world seemed to suddenly spin around her, and while her senses were dizzy and blurred, she felt as if this was it for her as well. That her body was slowly shutting down, and that in a matter of minutes she would bleed out and take her last breath.

This surprisingly gave her a sense of relief, as she was willing to let herself fade away with him. She didn't want to die, but death seemed a lot more peaceful than the hell she was living in now. She didn't see a point in fighting anymore.. She'd only be fighting to live a life of loneliness and grief. She surrendered, and slowly the pain grew numb and her world grew dark. Her emerald colored eyes closed as she lost all consciousness as she fell over beside Clint.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter was a little much, "feels" wise. This is probably the most intense chapter of the entire fanfiction, and I ask if you leave a review that you don't hate on the content.
> 
> I would greatly appreciate any feedback, both of aspects you liked and didn't like. Thank you for reading!


	3. So Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all the broken hearts in the last chapter. If you don't enjoy more sad and dark themes, I would suggest not reading this story. However, as a writer, I enjoy more emotional stories. There will be ways in which Clint is still very much apart of the story, maybe not in this chapter, but future ones. I don't want to spoil anything though. As a huge ClintxNatasha shipper, this story focuses almost entirely on their relationship, and how Natasha lives with losing him. Thank you all who have read this so far, and left a Kudo or comment. It really means a lot to me.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. reinforcements arrived over an hour later, but the team soon realized as they landed their aircraft that almost all the enemy hostiles were gone. The surviving enemies had long fled or perished in the flames. The team had half a dozen aircrafts because they were expecting a large enemy force to be awaiting them, but little did they know the fight had ended the moment the building blew. But they still had a job to do, because two high level agents, who also both happened to be Avengers, were last heard from in this mess.

The commander of the reinforcement team was Maria Hill, a high leveled S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and a close comrade and partner to the two agents they were now searching for. Before they moved the search party out, Hill had tried contacting both Clint and Natasha on the communication's com, with no luck. Walking down the aircraft's ramp, her firm grey eyes scanned over her search team as she said quickly,

"Listen up. We have two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents possibly injured out in there. This is a hostile zone, but I don't give a damn, I want them found, and quickly. I don't care if you have to face an entire Hydra squad to get to them, you're trained to fight, so put yourself to good use. Find them. Contact me if you have any leads."

Setting out with her team as they began to spread out, her agile and swift pace helping her make good time. Fuming smoke billowed into the air, and she has to squint to see through it. The building in the distance was still half in flames, for the ruins still held an amber glow from the explosion. The scene looked like hell on earth, and two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s finest agents were missing in it.

With every trudge of her black combat boots as she climbed up and over the charred rubble, her self esteem and hope slowly faded. Her breathing rapid, and her eyes locked on the surrounding area, which was a haze of grey smoke, she muttered under her breath in frustration,

"God damn you Barton, call me here to rescue your sorry ass, and then disappear on me why don't you."

But it was after she pushed aside large chunks of smoking rubble and cleared a few piled up bricks away did she see something under the rubble, a black metallic object. Clearing the rocks and debris to get to it she soon pulled it out only to see it was but a bow. The weapon was made by S.H.I.E.L.D., out of one of the strongest metals, and yet the black metal was dented and the string split. Retractable and with the most sleek and complex design she knew exactly whose weapon this was. As Maria held the broken weapon, a sense of dread filled her as she realized if a nearly indestructible object was in this kind of condition, what was Clint's condition? It couldn't be any better than the bow, and as she stood up and looked around urgently, she knew the situation was more dire than any of them imagined. Frantic yet controlled she picked up her pace as she swiftly leapt over rubble as she called over to her team through her earpiece.

"The far left side of the building, I think I have something, hurry and bring medics."

Yet just as she said that the smoke seemed to clear, and she could see she was standing right in puddle of blood that had pooled up all around the area. She couldn't help but stifle a chocking gasp as her gaze followed the flow of red liquid to where it originated from. Her heart sank as she gazed over the sight as she dropped the bow with a clang on the ruined ground.

Springing into a speeding dash, her eyes widening in fear as she splashed through the pool of blood, where only feet from her laid two still black suited and bleeding forms. Resembling even from afar the agents she was looking for she felt a sense of dread wash over her as she prepared herself for the worst. The blood was fresh and plentiful, pooling and flowing like a steady river.

As she approached it was Natasha that came into view first. She laid almost on her back, eyes closed and face pale, her breathing too shallow to detect if she was alive. This made the brunette haired S.H.I.E.L.D. agent freeze in her tracks, her eyes looking at her form as she saw the blood gushing from her side. Natasha looked frail and skinny, her face gaunt and lifeless and her mouth closed.

Hill dared to take a step closer, feeling her own emotions raging at the sight of the agent who she saw as invincible in such condition as she lowered herself to kneel beside her. She kneeled in blood that felt more like cold water than blood, and looking over Natasha she grabbed at her earpiece with a shaky hand and said to the approaching other Agents, her voice firm yet also almost frantic,

"I found them both, and they are in critical condition, get Fury on the line now. And hurry with that medical team."

She waited a moment before getting a response,

"Copy that Agent Hill, we'll be over immediately."

Hanging up she then placed quickly a firm hand right on Natasha's neck, her other shaking hand grabbing at her limp wrist, feeling for a pulse. Hill felt as if though she couldn't even breath for her lungs were tight and no air seemed to be able to escape her, but it was then that she felt it. A faint shallow beat that indicated that the red haired assassin wasn't gone. But her pulse was so weak, she knew any breath could be Natasha's last. Resting her on her back to get breathes more easily she didn't want to leave her fellow Agent and friend, but she knew Clint likely wasn't in any better condition than Natasha.

The archer laid right beside Natasha but on his side in an almost unnatural position as if someone had moved him there. As Hill stepped over to him, her boots still splashing up blood as she walked did she notice he looked absolutely horrible. He looked to have not just one, but several bullets in his back, which was oddly curved in, his shoulders rounded slightly. Hill was no doctor, but she could assume his back was likely broken.

She felt her stomach tighten and her own breaths grow shorter as she leaned down to look him over. He was paler than Natasha, and was so still it was as if this wasn't even Clint, but some lifeless replica of him. Hill kneeled down beside him, eyes saddened as she placed a soft and gentle hand on his throat for a pulse. Before she even felt for his pulse she noticed how cold his skin was, and she knew then that he was gone. She didn't startle at this, nor did she try to frantically save him, bring him back somehow. His body was cold and stiff, evidence that he had passed some time ago. She knew he far beyond saving.

Hill kneeled there, her weight shifting backward as she let out a long and hopeless exhale. She had failed to recover them both alive, and now she would be the one to break the news that one of the Avengers was dead. Her jaw trembled and yet she couldn't draw her gaze away from Clint. The reality fell upon her all at once, that this mangled and lifeless body was that of her friend, someone she had known and worked with for almost fifteen years. Grey eyes began to water, and several tears ran down her cheek as she let herself grieve and accept this shock.

But through the process of trying to wipe her tears, Hill then remembered the other agent who was clinging to life. Moving over to Natasha she placed a firm hand on one of her bullet wounds, applying pressure and gritting her teeth as she continued to check her vitals. It was then that the earpiece in her ear buzzed and he booming voice of Nick Fury spoke.

"Hill, what the hell is going on? First I get a call that Barton called for backup, and now you can't even find them? This was suppose to be a simple mission, and it's turned into utter chaos, what is going on?"

"No sir, I-I found them." She spoke her voice cracking slightly and also somewhat strained.

"Okay good, well is the file safe?" He asked almost not even grasping the urgent manner in her voice.

"I have no idea Sir, but the building was blown up. Not sure who blew it, but my guess is Barton or Romanoff had a hand in it. We haven't seen a single alive Hydra soldier. But Agent Romanoff is in extremely critical condition, she has a life threatening gunshot wound, and a lethal amount of blood loss. I have no idea how she's still alive, but we could lose her at any moment, sir."

"Send her to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s main hospital, in New York. Best doctors in the country there, if she's got any chance it's there. I'll call them and tell them to prepare the OR." He said his voice stern yet little did Hill know the stoic director of Shield suddenly felt a rush of dread fill him at that news.

"And what about Barton, Hill? Is he still missing?" He asked suddenly.

"No I found him by Romanoff. Sir...he didn't make it." She spoke her voice lowering with sudden remorse.

There was a long moment of silence before she heard him reply in a firm, almost angered, yet also deathly quiet tone.

"Get Natasha to that medical base, keep her alive. I can't afford to lose another one of my finest agents today. I will meet you there." He finished abruptly.

"Copy that, Sir." She said finally as her gaze shifted to the medical team that had finally arrived.

She helped them lift Natasha, who was nearly half her normal weight due to blood loss, onto a gurney, slipping several IV fluids and blood supplies right into her, as well as an oxygen mask. As they moved her, Natasha began to slowly shake her head, her consciousness returning. Hill would stay right beside her as the medical team rushed the gurney to the nearest aircraft.

Hill shouted for the team to move faster, get extra blood supplies on the aircraft, and prepare to accelerate to full speed as they moved her into the aircraft. Never leaving her side, Hill looked back through the smoke like haze where she saw Agent Jackson, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who was second in command of this team, working to remove Clint's body from the broken and ravaged battle grounds. Hill pressed her earpiece and spoke solemnly to Jackson,

"I'm taking Romanoff to S.H.I.E.L.D Main, on Fury's orders. Follow us and bring him there as well, and find his bow. I'll see you there."

Just as the aircraft's ramp began to close, Hill saw Jackson drape a black sheet over Clint. Hill's stomach dropped, the shock was still setting in but she knew she had to stay strong for Natasha. Jackson commed just as Hill's aircraft took off, "Copy that. Commander, do you want to call it?"

Hill inhaled slowly, looking at her watch and her empty voice spoke over all the coms, even the ones that would report to SHIELD headquarters,

"This is Commander Maria Hill, declaring Agent Clint Barton as KIA. Time of declared death, 19:31."

After having broken the news to all of S.H.I.E.L.D. of the death of an Avenger, Hill moved to sit down on a seat by where Natasha laid. Head lowered, and looking at her bloodied hands, she could feel guilt begin to rise in her. What if they had gotten there thirty minutes earlier? An hour earlier? Maybe the losses wouldn't have been so great, maybe she could have saved him.

Natasha was slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the duration of the flight. Medics kept pumping oxygen into her, and they had already used several bags of blood. Natasha's head shook back and forth, and sometimes she would faintly mumble or groan.

Hill ordered to give her morphine, as she sat up and stood beside her. She grasped her thin and cold hand, saying softly in an attempt to soothe her,

"It's okay Agent Romanoff, it's going to be okay. You're safe now, it's all going to be okay."

Somehow, Hill's voice seemed to almost bring the agent out of unconsciousness, as her bloodshot green eyes opened and closed periodically. However, it wasn't until they were an hour out from the hospital that Natasha's blood pressure began to decrease. Her pulse grew rapid and she broke out into a sweat. Her hands began to tremble, and her eyes opened wide and dilated, reflecting fear and hysteria in them. Heaving for breath, she began to cry in a raspy voice,

"Don't, don't, please don't."

The medics said she was going into shock, that the pain and blood loss were likely causing hallucinations. They injected her with epinephrine and got more IV fluid to try and prevent further dehydration. She continued to wheeze,

"Please don't leave, don't leave him."

Medics declared she was speaking simple nonsense, but the episode went on for minutes without end.

Hill heard meaning in what she spoke, and after the medics finished their initial emergency aid, Hill placed a gentle hand on Agent Romanoff's shoulder, as she continued to rasp those few words,

"Don't leave him, don't, don't treat. I-don't know, no, don't leave."

Natasha's words were becoming slurred, but her eyes wide and filled with determination. She knew what she was trying to say, but her mental and physical energy were fading quickly.

Hill kneeled down so she was on eye level with Natasha, as she tried to get Natasha to recognize her. She wasn't sure what Natasha could see, feel, or hear, but she tried to get through to her.

"Natasha, we didn't leave Clint behind. We didn't leave him." Hill said strongly, grey eyes looking into her green ones, trying to get her to understand.

Natasha stopped trying to speak, but instead laid her head back gently. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but her eyes closed and she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Hill understood Natasha's plea, despite the hysteria and shock. She was scared not for herself, but for Clint. That's what the two had done for the past ten years, look out for one another. Hill's heart grew heavy as she began to wonder if Natasha thought Clint was alive, or if she knew what had happened. Either way, the two agents had been there for each other until the end, and even as her own life threatened to slip away, Natasha wouldn't stop trying to protect Clint.

Hill felt helpless, but Natasha's undying affection for her now late husband made the weight of reality fall upon her. Hill softly lowered her head into her bloodied hands, crying,

"I'm so sorry Natasha."

Hill realized nothing would be the same anymore. If Natasha lived, she would never be the person she once was. The Avengers would never be whole again, and every team member would have to go through their own way of dealing with the lose of a teammate. The world would become more vulnerable, as the people learned that even one of Earth's mightiest heroes could be killed. Fear and uncertainty would plague the globe, the security the Avengers brought to the world would be diminished.

Maria Hill would never be the same. Not just because of the lose of a fellow colleague, but because regretful guilt is perpetual. Despite how many people would say it wasn't her fault, she would never forgive herself. Because, she didn't know what would have happened if she did something different. Maybe she alone could have prevented this misfortune. Or, maybe she alone was the reason so much grief, pain, and fear would happen.

After the aircraft had landed, and Natasha was rushed into the OR, Hill found herself alone in a spare room. Doctors begged to let them examine her, fear of mild PTSD or shock, but she denied them. Fury eventually ordered the doctors to dismiss Commander Hill, and it wasn't till later that evening that Fury came to visit Hill in her solitude.

There was a moment of silence before Fury spoke almost softly, a rare form of affection for the Director.

"I went and saw Barton. I didn't believe you, I needed to see for myself."

Fury wasn't one to emote what he was feeling, especially if it would make him seem vulnerable. Yet, Hill could tell from his voice he was fighting to keep it concealed. His one eye looked down at his hands, as he exhaled slowly, saying half to himself,

"Seeing him like that…"

Fury then cut himself off, realizing he'd rather not go down the emotional route, not now. In truth, Fury was refusing to believe, but S.H.I.E.L.D. executives needed Fury's conformation Clint was indeed dead before allowing the news to be released to the public. Fury avoided the task for several hours, but he was eventually forced to follow through with obligations that came with being a Director. It took everything the Director had to not show sadness when he saw Clint, but there were the damned executives in the room with him, and the last thing he wanted was for them to publicize his emotional reaction.

But now, Fury could finally breath. Him and Hill sat there in silence, both too tired to talk, what was there to talk about anyways? They both felt the same grief, and guilt. Both worried for Natasha, who was currently being operated on. Both, were completely helpless to do anything but mourn and hope. This was difficult, especially for Fury, who was used to always having control of a situation.

There was nothing either of them could do, and so for a good while they did nothing, but sit together in solitude in a small closet like room. Two of S.H.I.E.L.D.s most authoritative figures, cowered away from facing doctors and even the other Avengers, who had arrived by now at the hospital. In this time of silent reflection, Hill realized Fury had finally found a private place to come to terms with everything that happened. She could have sworn his one eye teared up, even if it was just for a split second.

Eventually they would talk, and eventually they would come out of their little solitude, but for now, they were content with each other's silent company.


	4. Fade Away

The SHIELD helicopter was reported to had landed, when in a few seconds Steve Rogers came charging out of the elevator. He didn't have to run far until two nurses confronted him, and instructed him to follow them. He was led into a room where at a large table sat Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, and Tony Stark. Nick didn't even acknowledge Rogers' entrance, where as Maria had her head in her hands, and appeared to be exhausted. Tony seemed to almost purposefully look the other way, his eyes appeared bloodshot and his jaw trembled. Bruce exhaled slowly as he gave Steve a saddened gaze, saying as he adjusted his glasses,

"Natasha is in surgery right now, she's very unstable but alive. She has three gunshot wounds, one of which has caused internal bleeding and damaged her left lung. She has lost a lot of blood, and the other gunshot resulted in a break in her right Tibia."

Steve tried to follow along with Bruce's explanation, but there was only one real question that mattered, would she make it?

"Not to mention, almost all the veins in her hand were severed with a knife, which makes the loss of blood even more serious. But, doctors have reported that the blood loss may not be the problem, because the damage to her lung is potentially lethal."

Steve could have sworn he heard Tony scoff as Bruce finished. Steve put a hand on his forehead, sliding into a seat at the large table he took a moment to process it all. He remembered about an hour ago, getting that phone call that Clint Barton was dead, and that his wife, Natasha Romanoff, was in critical condition and had a greater chance of dying than surviving. He remembered collapsing into a chair, his voice cracking in disbelief, as he questioned the SHIELD official who had called him.

And now here Steve sat, listening as everything he was told over the phone was proven fact. It was not just Bruce's words that told the truth, but the energy and emotion of everyone in the room. Nick Fury, quietly looking downward, as if in shameful defeat. Tony, who seemed to be almost insanely on edge as he insecurely avoided Steve's gaze, hoping he wouldn't notice his bloodshot eyes.

Just as Steve joined this silence, as he found himself speechless and desperate for a moment to comprehend it all, the sound of steady pounding broke the silence. Seconds later, Thor appeared in the doorway of the room. He looked both disheveled and enraged as he looked from Steve to Tony and then to Nick and then asked,

"Is this is all true then? About Barton and Romanoff?"

Showing that he was indeed comprehending what the other Avengers were saying, Nick nodded his head. Despite being an all powerful god, Thor suddenly seemed as helpless and defeated as everyone else in the room. Steve's low and melancholy voice broke the silence,

"What happened to Clint?"

Tony's head jerked up, as if he were about to speak up, but Bruce calmly cut him off.

"There hasn't been an autopsy yet, but obviously he was killed in action during a mission to retrieve SHIELD files from Hydra. Basic reports say he has several gunshot wounds, none of which seem to be fatal though. He has several lacerations and stab wounds, again they didn't result in terrible blood loss and likely weren't the cause of death."

Bruce paused for a moment, it obviously wasn't easy to report such gruesome accounts about someone who was all of their friend and teammate. He inhaled slowly, removing his glasses as he continued,

"His spine and neck appear to be broken, and the back of his skull shattered. Even without an autopsy, I suspect these injuries were caused by a fall from a great height. If this is true, he most likely died on impact..."

Bruce's voice trailed off, as he appeared to have no more energy or heart to continue to talk about Clint. Maria added in quickly, her voice exhausted and almost restrained of letting emotions slip,

"By the time I got to him, there was nothing anyone could have done."

Steve now looked just as worn down as everyone else in the room. He wanted to know who let this happen, why it happened. He didn't know what to say or do, how to react or process all of this.

For awhile they all sat there. Tony got up from his seat, and presumably left. Bruce seemed about as exhausted as Maria, and Thor still seemed to be processing it all. Steve eventually requested for Nick to take him to the OR viewing area, and to get a report on Natasha's status. The two walked down to a large window looking into the OR, where Steve could barely stand the sight of seeing Natasha lying helplessly on that table. Blood stained the doctor's scrubs and the floors, and the surgeons seemed to almost be scrambling. Steve braced himself against the ledge of the window, eyes madly watching, almost as if desperate to find a way to help. Nick, continued to look down with a lowered head, as if with guilt.

* * *

_(Natasha's Point of View)_

_There was a rhythmic beat to the heart rate monitor as it made a slow yet steady beat. The room was completely empty, besides the surgeons and nurses. All that I could make of my surroundings were that I was in a metallic white enclosure, with glaring sheens of bright light beaming into eyes. The light made it hard to tell where I was, or if this was a real tangible place I was in. One wouldn't think a light could be so tormenting, but it was a brutally sharp, piercing my eyes and creating a burning sensation. Among the blinding light, there was a sense of chaos and structure about the room. A sense of hot pain and cold emptiness, of thriving life and fading death._

_And here I stood, in the midsts of it all, feeling even more empty than the room itself._

_I stood in the center of the OR, but I didn't even know how I had gotten there. The last memory I had was holding Clint's body as I bled out, before I eventually fainted. But here I was, looking over my broken and bleeding body that the SHIELD doctors operated rapidly on._

_Of course my immediate reaction was that I was dead. Why else would I be fully detached from what remained of my body, in the form of some kind of spirit. But then several factors soon contradicted this theory. My vitals, while weak, were still present and beeping with a shrill that rang like a terrible echo through the cold room. If I was dead, the doctors wouldn't be scrambling madly to try and stop the flow of blood and to repair the internal bleeding and damage to my lungs, that was unless these doctors were very serious about autopsies. But the most evident factor, that proved I wasn't dead, not yet at least, was that I was all alone._

_No, if I were truly gone, and the events that happened earlier were true, Clint Barton would be here as well. I was certain of that, as certain as I was of our love. But he was nowhere to be found, infact there was no one to be found. I turned around on my heel, my eyes frantically scanning the large room, but there was no one here but the surgeons, and me._

_To put it mildly, I was still in shock, and not just from being separated from my body. Emotions raged through me, and I could feel myself growing lightheaded with the effort of trying to wrap my thoughts around everything. In an attempt to keep my spiritual self sane, I thought out everything I knew as fact, as I slowly backed away from the surgeons and my physical body to leave the gory sight._

_I am Natasha Romanoff Barton._

_An Agent of Shield._

_A Master Assassin._

_An Avenger._

_I was Russian,_

_but I'm not anymore…_

_Clint Barton was sent to kill me._

_But, he didn't._

_He's the reason I'm still alive._

_I have red in my ledger._

_I'm not a good person._

_I'm a murderer._

_I have a few friends,_

_but they aren't here right now._

_I am alone._

_I am a wife_

_No,_

_widow._

_I am not dead,_

_not yet._

_But I don't want to be alive_

_Not anymore._

_The only person I love is dead_

_And it is my fault._

_I owe him everything._

_But he's gone now,_

_forever._

_As I thought through these thoughts, I continued to step back. My hands trembled as I heaved for breath. I knew I wasn't physically in my body, but it just proved what I already knew, I was mentally damaged. I wanted to run away, but couldn't, so I stepped away slowly till my hand felt the cold wall. It seemed to burn, kinda like how the sensation of ice on a warm hand. But I was already numb, so as I backed up into the wall and slid down onto the floor, the pain hardly bothered me._

_I crouched on the ground, grabbing my knees carefully and keeping my eyes locked on the now blurry forms of the surgeons. The ground was cold, the air was frigid. It burned my core with every breath I took, simply because it was a reminder that I was still alive._

_I felt as if the pressure of all my thoughts, of all my sins and of all my regrets, were now trampling this mental form of myself. I gripped myself tighter, but I couldn't feel my hands around my legs. My vision was growing dim, and I felt my consciousness doing the same. I shook my head, tightening my muscles as I suddenly spoke again, in a tone quieter than a whisper,_

_"H-how did we get here..."_

_I had to stop, to take a breath for it seemed all my strength, my mental strength that is, was fading quickly. I saw the sharp lights grow softer, and I let out a large heave of a sigh, feeling the heavy pressure weigh me down as I grasped my next words. It was more of a stream of exhaling breaths that somehow managed to sound like words,_

_" Let me go..."_

_But before I could even make sense of what I gasped out, the soft lights grew dim, and I blacked out once again._

* * *

 

Steve was sitting in the waiting room, alone. The lights, except for dim flickering ones in the distant halls, were all off. Even the nurses and check in staff, were absent from the waiting room. It was so silent, that Steve could easily hear every tick of the clock as the minutes turned into hours.

It was about four in the morning, and Steve had drifted in and out of a light sleep. But, it was hard for him to get any sleep when about two hours ago he was rushed out of the OR viewing area, when the surgery began to get critical and Natasha's vitals started slowing.

Images of not just Natasha, but Clint, plagued the super soldier. Fury had allowed Steve to see Clint, because Steve claimed he wouldn't believe Fury unless he saw. The sight of not just the blood and the bulletholes, but of seeing him so pale and stiff, it all seemed unreal to Steve. He soon regretted requesting to see him.

As he drifted out of sleep once again, he heard the door open and overhead Nick claiming to Bruce that Tony came back. None of the other Avengers joined Steve out in the waiting room, and that was how he wanted it. He didn't want to talk to anyone, especially someone who was in the same emotional position he was in. He wanted time alone, in the dark waiting room, to detach himself from others and let himself feel.

In the silence, with nothing but the images of Natasha and Clint in his mind, Steve found himself getting teary eyed. He lowered his head slowly into his hands, prepared to let himself give in to the tears that stung and threatened to fall. But that was when light suddenly filled the room, and Bruce came running into the room.

Looking at Steve, a spark of hope in his eye yet a saddened tone to his voice he spoke, "The surgery was successful, but she's unresponsive."

* * *

 

_I came to sometime later in a room much less horrid than the OR. This room didn't reek of blood and didn't glare with intense pressure, but was a quiet dimly lit hospital room, where I stood, still disconnected from my unresponsive physical form, which lay in the bed before me._

_While I wasn't bleeding anymore, I looked no better than a corpse. I was practically unrecognizable. An oxygen mask covered a large portion of my face, and I was hooked to all kinds of IV's and medical devices. I was on life support, and it clear I was only clinging to life due to those devices._

_I was disappointed to be still heaving such a burden of a life around. To still accompany my damned dysfunctional body, even though I obviously wasn't attached to it at the moment._

_It seemed like days, before anyone besides doctors and nurses came in the room. But the moment he opened the door, hope suddenly seemed to ignite within me. For in, with a calm and almost hesitant manner, approached Bruce Banner._

_Despite my reputation for being the coldly heartless and strong Black Widow, I wanted to run right up and hug the doctor. I wanted physical comfort, to know I was safe and protected around him. Just seeing a familiar face, a friend, seemed to bring up hat little bit of compassion I held within me. He approached me, with warm eyes and a respectfully calm demeanor. For being always filled with rage, as he claimed he was, I couldn't ask for a more calmer man. His movements were soft, and his expressions while saddened, were relaxed. It made me feel a small sense of serenity, in such a time of chaos._

_He took a seat beside my physical and unresponsive body. His posture was relaxed, but also slouched calmly, his head lowered a little, as if in thought as he interlocked his fingers that lay on his knees. I sat down on a chair close to him, and just gazed at him._

_After awhile of peaceful silence he spoke, his voice just as soft,_

_"Natasha...I know there's a good chance you can't even hear me, but for once in my life, I'm not really sure what to do. You're in an unresponsive status, almost like a coma, but doctor's don't believe your condition is that critical yet. It's complicated really, but rather than bore you with medical talk, let me get to the point."_

_While part of me wanted to block out what he was going to say, knowing he would likely beg me_

_to stay alive or something along those lines, there was something in the genuine calm tone of his voice that drew me to listen._

_"The mind is the most powerful thing on this planet. And while that may sound like a stretch, consider this. It's the mind that created weapons, and super soldiers. The mind that conducts a war, the mind that shaped humanity as it is. I've learned that, maybe the hard way. But if I can control myself, and the other guy...you can control what happens to you. There is equipment here, technology and devices, that will keep you alive for the time being. But in the end, you'll need the will to live, to survive."_

_Letting out a huff, I shook my head and looked away from Bruce, feeling the hope I once felt drained. Didn't he understand I didn't have the will to live anymore? But no how could he...after all everyone saw me as this strong, never affected by emotions, assassin._

_Well it was foolish of them to think that way, for like as Bruce spoke of, my mind was overly powerful. To the point it was breaking me, and as the gentle doctor squeezed my hand warmly and walked out, I regretfully sighed, knowing I probably wouldn't ever see him again, not alive at least._

_Thor came in next, with a less stoic as usual manner. He was dressed in normal Asgardian wear, and it looked as if he had just arrived from there. He had a rather blank look to his roughly expressed face as he strode up to me, but he didn't take a calm seat like the gentle doctor did. No he stood strongly above me, looking down upon my weak form as he spoke, his voice booming through the room,_

_"Natasha, I have come to this realm of Earth upon hearing the news of your condition. While your welfare is not in my hands, know both myself and all of Asgard, pray for you to recover."_

_The compassion in his deep usually emotionless voice really hit me, to see the God of Thunder so troubled, really made me feel more important than I actually am. His deep blue eyes while powerful as usual, looked as if though they were glossed with tears, which only made me feel even worse..._

_"You are but the strongest mortal I have ever met, but your battle is not over yet my friend. And for while you may wake to grief, I have faith your strength will prevail."_

_His words were short and simple, but they sent both guilt and strength through me. For he was praising me of being this great strong human, but in truth I wasn't. I was planning to take the easy, the weak way out, and give up the fight. I didn't deserve the words he spoke, but I couldn't help but feel a small bit of self power from his few words. I was grateful of the God's arrival, and of his words._

_Tony came in next. At this point I assumed all of the Avengers were here to visit me. While the last two Avengers had been respectful even calm to some degree, Tony was the complete opposite. It was hard to tell whether he was filled with rage, sorrow, or shock, but he was a mess. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, his eyes bloodshot and his movements stiff and jerky. His jaw was clenched and his breath heavy and ragged. His eyes seemed to look down as he stiffly pulled up a chair. He avoided looking at me, and instead glared at the floor._

_For a long time there was only silence, and after awhile this silence became almost discomforting. As I sat beside him, my eyes focused on him, but his own eyes looking down at the floor. His knuckles were white as his hands were clenched tightly, and his whole expression was stressed and troubled. Stubbles of hair indicated he hadn't shaved, and his hair was untidy and unkempt._

_But before I could analyze this any further, Tony sprang right out of his seat, his sharp and desperate eyes upon me as he suddenly outstretched his hand, pointing his finger right at my body as he spoke harshly, his tone, unforgiving,_

_"First, it was Barton. And then you're in surgery for god knows how long, your heart stopped twice, and Steve about had a heart attack. And now, well now...you know what, If you think you're the only one suffering here, then you're sorely mistaken, Natasha."_

_His words and tone caught me off guard, putting me on edge as I tried to figure out what he meant. My fists were clenched in despite, as his words were almost hostile. However his speech was slurred, and his train of thought seemed scattered. I knew it was safe to assume he was not sober, but still it all seemed very unlike him. I continued to listen, as he caught his breath and continued,_

_"You can't just, give up. You know that right? We all know, Barton gave his life for you. If you throw that away, he may as well had died for nothing. If you allow yourself to be weak and selfish, well then your husband died in vain. "_

_He was more than hostile now, he was madly almost cynical. As he spoke I felt a fire grow within me, suddenly I wanted to punch Tony clear in the face. He didn't know my emotions, hell he didn't even know if I had a choice in whether I lived or died, yet he continued to yell at me, as if it were my fault._

_Yet as he caught his breath and finally looked at me fully, my pale, almost grey, face, blue lips and blackened eyes. The sickly tone to my body, and skinny form that appeared too frail to belong to me. He sat down on the chair beside me, and wearily put his head in his hands. He sat there in silence for a very long time, but when he finally spoke up his voice wasn't aggressive, it was the voice of the Tony I knew._

_"You owe it to him, Natasha. He gave his life for you, and you at least owe it to him to keep that life. Don't let his actions, his sacrifice, go to waste. He was more than your husband and a teammate, he was my friend too..."_

_His voice cracked and I thought I had saw a watered sheen to Tony's eyes. He lowered his head for a moment, before continuing,_

_" You owe it to not just him, but everyone in the team. Clint would want you to keep fighting, you know he would. It won't be easy for you, or for any of us for that matter, but it's what he would have wanted."_

_His words were direct and stern, no hint of his usual sarcastic or cocky was found. No he was dead serious, and I could feel his mad determination intensify as he spun right around and walked as quickly as he could out of the room. I still felt a heat of anger towards him, but his words sunk into me suddenly, and while they didn't change my mind, I felt another greater weight of guilt fill me. Wherever he was, Clint was most likely furious at me for my decision, but he would understand eventually._

_That was one of the things I had always loved about him, for while he was stubborn to his own opinions, he always found a way to see my point of view, and unlike others he respected it. He would be mad at me most likely, but he would get over it quickly. After all, he was used to me not following orders, especially his. And he can't blame me for not wanting to live in a world without him._

_Finally Steve came in, his movements careful and his gestures just as gentle as Bruce's. Out of all of the Avengers, besides Clint, I felt the closest to Steve. We were good friends, and it almost pained me to see him. But at the same time, it gave me a sense of relief, of comfort._

_He slowly approached me, pulling up a chair, and unlike the others who came in before, he wasn't afraid to look at me. His soft blue eyes were filled with compassion I could feel, yet also a haunting worry. But he was very controlled and didn't rage with emotions like the others, or at least he didn't let his emotions show. Which I was grateful for._

_I sat right across from him, looking deeply at him as he wasted no time gently reaching over my broken form and sliding his own strong hands under my weak cold ones. I closed my eyes, focusing on him and reaching, hoping to feel his ever so gentle touch. But I was still disconnected from my physical form, and so couldn't feel his touch._

_He simply held my hand for a moment, head down as he grasped it firmly yet with care. His own hand gently stroked the top of mine, and he continued to hold it as he began to speak,_

_"Natasha...god what a day it's been. Be happy you're not awake to see this mess, ever since it all happened Tony has been half drunk half in shock. Thor's threatened to beat the shit out of Fury for sending you into that mission, and let's just say Bruce wasn't as calm earlier as he was when he came in to see you. We're a hot mess, but I can't imagine being in your shoes."_

_There was a small pause in his calm and hushed yet still audible voice as he looked up at the beeping monitors, his eyes almost lit in sorrow as he comprehended the shallow rhythm to my breathing._

_"Look, Bruce says you can most likely hear, maybe even see me, but I don't know what to believe anymore. This all goes beyond even the most complex of sciences, and maybe that's why everyone is having such a hard time with this. They are used to logical solutions, to a defiant answer. But losing Clint and now possibly you, the thought of it all is beyond what we want to comprehend."_

_His words while making some sense felt slightly out of place, but knowing Steve he would likely follow them with a philosophical monologue. Normally I would have rolled my eyes at his little wise speeches, but I was truly invested in every meaningful word that came from the super soldier's mouth._

_"I don't know everything, I'm not you and won't ever be able to know what you're feeling, but I do know this; you are not alone. You may feel alone, but you never were, and never will be. You still have people who love you Natasha, and we may not love you as deeply as he did, but we love you nonetheless. We'll be there for you, every single step of the way. And he's still with you Nat...I'm not saying it's going to be easy. But we're all with you, Me, Tony, Thor, Bruce, Fury, Hill, Coulson, even Sam and Pepper. We're all here for you...and Clint is too. He's always will be."_

_His words while choked out with gasps of heavy sighs, held depth and I started to feel a sense of regret on my decision. I did love Steve, and Tony, and Bruce, and all of them. Suddenly the thought of leaving them behind grew into a heavy pain, which developed into a brutal sense of guilt. I knew subconsciously they were always there for me, Steve's words reminded me of all I would lose._

_"But...Natasha, I'd let you go. I want you to be content, to be happy. And I know Clint would want you to be happy too. He gave his life for you, to make that decision. He chose his actions, and now you'll have to make a choice yourself. This is your life, and your decision, and no one but you can decide."_

_Before I could take in all he said he stood up quickly, and I could see as I lifted my head heavily his blue eyes were fogged with small tears. He softly placed my hand back on the bed, and quickly with the most gentle hand touched my pale cold cheek._

_"I'll miss you like hell, if you do choose what I think you're going to...but know you're still loved. No matter what happens, you always will be."_

_He left after that, without another word or even glance. I didn't want him to leave, in fact I leapt out of my chair and raced after him but it seems that suddenly I'm bound to stay wherever my body is._

_Feeling the walls close in around me I felt weaker than ever before, as if everything I had left was just slowly slipping away. I was able to stagger back to the chair, but the lights around me were growing brighter, like the OR all over again. Sounds of the machines were growing muffled, and I felt empty. I began to worry that this was it. That my mind had subconsciously decided I needed to leave this world, and that soon my heart would stop and I would fade away from this world._

_But I hadn't made up my mind...no, something pulled me towards reconnecting with my broken body. It wasn't just Steve's words, but all of theirs. I soon was unable to see or hear, I feared my cognition would follow, and that my life would swiftly end just like that._

_It suddenly came to me, this wasn't about me. It was about the man who gave his life for me, the only one who truly loved me, and the call me made. No. I couldn't leave, not until I repaid everything he gave me. For it seemed no matter how hard I tried, I was still in his debt. Clint would want me to live, to fight on. I owed it to him to keep the life he spared, loved, and saved. For how else was I supposed to repay him..._

_The lights grew brighter and my thoughts deeper. I couldn't tell what was going on in the room, or if I was still even in the same room. No, I couldn't fade away, not anymore._

_I wanted to live, to fight another day. I felt the fire of determination that usually raged deep within me spark and I fought, for my life._

_I couldn't save him, but I would live for him._

_With the light became blinding and I could feel my conscious fading, but not my will to fight. As my last moments of consciousness drifted I spoke up, my tone dying but yet strong till the end,_

_"Forgive me, Clint."_

_I felt a sense of uplifting warmth, and suddenly felt distance growing between myself and this world, and a force beyond anything I was capable of processing in that moment. Then it all went black and silent._

* * *

 

There was nothing to be seen or heard in the halls surrounding Natasha's room. It was late in the evening, and almost every light in the hospital was turned off. The dark silence was almost peaceful, and yet the only sound to be heard was the steady beep of the monitor, and the slow inhale and exhale of her oxygen mask as the machines breathed for her.   
  
No one but himself, could hear his slow footsteps, as he made his way through her opened door. The darkness of the room didn't affect his ability to see, and so he made his way over to a lone chair that was placed by her bedside.   
  
After managing to sit down, he placed his head in his hands, or to put it more correctly, spiritual form of hands.   
  
He wasn't exactly sure how he was able to be here, and as he tried to remember everything that had lead up to this moment, everything seemed to blur together.   
  
With a lack of clarity, and a sense of painful hopelessness, he looked at her.   
  
Taking in the image, he clenched his jaw and looked away. The fight and life in the woman he loved so dearly, were drained, leaving her empty and vulnerable. He didn't need to look at the slow decrease in her heart rate on the monitor, to know that at any point she could slip away. It was as if he could feel the life within her, edge closer to the end.   
  
He felt a sense of dread and uneasiness build within him, similar to the feeling of your stomach dropping in shock and terror.   
  
He didn't want emotions anymore, and he questioned why he still had them, if he wasn't alive anymore. He felt such a compelling sense of protection over her, but he was completely helpless in being able to save her this time.   
  
For a long while he sat there, head in his hands. The steady decrease in the rate of beeps on the monitor almost tormented him. He felt his hands tighten into a fist, as a restrained frustration raced through him.   
  
He had nothing left to give. He could do nothing, but watch as Natasha's fate was set with forces he had no control over.   
  
To him, it was worse than when he had jumped, and knew he would eventually hit the ground. There was no certainty, or choice, just chance.   
  
Perhaps his fear was getting the better of him, but he had little choice in what he was feeling.   
  
Yet among the fear and anger, he raised his head upward and looked upon her again.   
  
The sun was rising, and it's light seeped through the window beside her bed. Red hair, highlighted by the amber beams of the sun, brought a sense of reality to him. Her soft and yet quieted facial expressions, were lit by the light of the new day.   
  
Even with her closed eyes blackened, her fair cheeks bruised, her breath ragged and dying, and her skin almost grey, she was still woman he loved. In that realization, he didn't see her as beaten, but as the strong and beautiful woman he had always known her as.  
  
There was a melancholy gaze in his own facials, and if he could quietly shed a tear, he would have. Not because he was dead, or even because he couldn't be with Natasha, but because she was so close to death herself. Because, she deserved more than to go out like this.   
  
He continued to stay by her side as the day went on. Nurses and doctors came in and out, but he never left.   
  
He would sometimes stay seated, and sometimes he would pace restlessly beside her. Whenever another Avenger would come in, he would stand against the doorframe, eyes looking downward, and then upward in sadness. With everyone who came in, the realization of how much he would miss everyone set deep within him.   
  
Days went by, and this routine became almost consistent. Natasha didn't get worse, but she wasn't getting any better. Doctors came in and out. The sun rose and set. But he never left her.   
  
One day, while quietly observing as Steve sat beside Natasha for a good couple hours, he looked down and noticed on his hand, he still wore his wedding ring.   
  
Inhaling slowly, he slowly began to question everything he was seeing. He wasn't actually wearing the same ring Natasha put on his finger, three short years ago. Was he actually here? Was Natasha, or Steve, actually here? Or was his subconscious somehow projecting him into a twisted reality of a world. What had he become, if not a lost soul trapped in his own mind and thoughts?  
  
He watched as Steve held Natasha's hand, and lowered his head as he softly cried for a few short minutes.   
  
As Steve cried, he had to look away. Placing his arm on the doorframe, he rubbed his head with his hand. If he had the ability to breathe, he would have been heaving for breath. He began to realize that this was possibly all his fault.   
  
Maybe if he wasn't so rash, he could have found another way. To keep himself, and Natasha, alive. Then maybe, Natasha wouldn't be clinging to her last breaths of life. The other Avengers wouldn't be crying, depressed, and left to deal with this tragedy. And he could do something, besides watch helplessly.   
  
Steve left and night fell.   
  
He sat down once again beside her, but it felt different this time. There was a finality to it all, perhaps she was nearing the end of the fight. However as night went on, her breathing and vitals remained steady. Yet, he felt such a pull away from her with every passing moment.   
  
The golden light of the sun began to trickle through the blinds, and for the first time he could actually somewhat feel the warmth of the sun. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the moment, but when he opened them the room appeared to be fully lit.   
  
He sat at the edge of his seat, loving eyes never straying from Natasha, in fear that if he looked away he would lose her. He reached out his hand and placed it on top of her small and frail hand that laid by her side.   
  
She couldn't feel his touch, but he somehow could feel how cold her skin was. Yet, he could also feel the faint beat of a pulse on her wrist.   
  
As he held her hand, the faint beat grew stronger. Her chest began to rise and fall, as he lungs opened up for large intakes of oxygen. She was breathing strongly, and her vitals were stabilizing.   
  
It was as if the small force he spiritually had, was giving her energy. In effect, as he looked upon himself, light was able to shine through his arm that was outstretched to hold her hand.  
  
He didn't have long.   
  
Looking downward, he focused and tried to will himself to be able to stay here with her. But with every passing moment his form grew more and more translucent.   
  
He stood up beside her, leaning over he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.   
  
Color returned to her cheeks, and her mouth parted as she began to breath on her own once again.   
  
He softly touched her cheek with the back of his hand, and finally reached to try and move a strand of red hair out of her face.   
  
To his own surprise, when he brushed her soft hair back, it moved.   
  
As he spent his last moments with her, he couldn't help but faintly smile. He was fading away, he didn't fight it anymore. He could allow himself to go now, because he knew she was going to come back, wake up, and eventually move on. He had faith, she would be okay.   
  
As the sun fully rose, it's light seeped through the window. He stepped back, and soon his entire form was engulfed in the light. His eyes never left Natasha, but his vision was soon blinded by the light.   
  
Natasha opened her eyes only moments after Clint had faded away. She awoke to the comforting warmth of the sun, and a feeling of newly found energy, which gave her the strength to recover.

 

 


	5. The Light Behind Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This is probably my favorite chapter of this entire fanfiction, because I feel it's the best written chapter and has the most genuine emotion that I am capable of writing. Some emotion, is subtle, and is very raw. For a good part of this chapter, I recalled upon my own experience with loss, and basically wrote it through Natasha, both through what she was feeling and seeing. If you all haven't caught on by now, I love to write emotion. I hope, for all of you reading this, I succeeded in embodying the very complex emotions of Natasha Romanoff. If I didn't, well leave me a comment, letting me know what I can do to improve. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as I throughly enjoyed writing and editing it. Oh also, I adore the song this chapter is named after, and it reminds me of Clint and Natasha in this particular fic.

The door to her room opened swiftly, but Natasha didn't bother looking to see who it was, figuring it was just doctors. Steve slowly walked towards her bed, eyes lowered yet his demeanor calm. Natasha had woken up yesterday, but no one except doctors were allowed to go in and see her, until now. All the Avengers had agreed that Steve should be the first to talk to her, and break the news to her.

Biting the inside of his lip, he pulled up a chair beside her. By now, Natasha had turned to realize who the visitor was. She looked towards Steve, emerald eyes bloodshot and reflecting someone both physically and emotionally distraught. She may have been improving physically, but her face was still gaunt and pale. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her face and arms covered with scars, bruises, and stitched cuts.

For a moment she just looked at him, her hauntingly frightened eyes looking into his compassionate blue ones. Steve had never seen her look so vulnerable and afraid, and for a minute he began to worry the fearless and spirited assassin would never be herself again. It wasn't easy to see her like that, and while part of Steve wished he didn't have to be here, he never considered leaving. He needed to be there for her, and nothing would prevent him from doing this.

Her eyes closed as she winced in pain as she tried to push herself into an upright position. Steve leaned forward, placing an arm on her back and shoulder, as he softly helped her sit up. Steve felt her chest lower around his arm as she exhaled, in relief of his help. Typical Natasha, avoiding asking for help she genuinely needed.

Once sitting up, she turned to Steve and managed to say,

"Hey Steve."

Her voice was hoarse and cracked as she first spoke, yet held a very distant and melancholy tone.

Steve smiled sadly, glad to see her talking, as he replied,

"Hey Natasha, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, her voice border on a very cold tone.

Steve nodded quickly, his jaw tightened as he was worried from now on she was just going to shut him, and anyone else out. Natasha however, noticed how hesitant he was to talk to her. Exhaling slowly, she leaned back against the bed as she looked towards him, saying,

"I mean, I'm alright Steve. No need for you, or anyone else, to worry."

Steve nodded again, this time replying softly as he said,

"Well, that's good to hear. Doctors say you'll be out of here in maybe two days. You're going to be out of the field for a while, you've got several broken ribs, and a broken leg. But, if you're willing to wear a brace, and use a crutch for the next couple days, you should be able to go home."

"I think I can manage that." She said quickly.

Steve noticed her quick tone, and concluded that she didn't want to talk. But, he knew he had to tell her, the longer he waited the harder it would be for both of them.

"We were all very worried for you, Natasha. A lot has happened over the last couple days, what was the last thing you remember, from the mission?" Steve asked carefully.

She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head, her facial expressions very restrained, almost as if in pain. Steve wasn't sure how to do it, how to tell her that Clint was dead. She appeared almost traumatized, as her mouth opened as if she wanted to form words, but nothing came out. He knew there was no easy way to put it, but he didn't want to hurt her anymore. He didn't want to be the one to have to tell her.

Finally, after a moment of silence between the two, Steve looked towards her again. His eyes warm and compassionate eyes locking with hers, as he exhaled and spoke quietly, and as calmly as he could,

"Natasha, there's something you need to know abou-"

"I know." She said sharply, cutting him off before he could finish.

Steve's eyes reflected that of disbelief for a minute, did she really know what she was talking about, or simply trying to end the conversation. But one look into her eyes, and Steve knew she meant what she said. Restrained grief and sadness reflected right through her emerald eyes, as she tried to keep herself composed.

"About Clint?" Steve almost asked, his voice sounding like a sigh.

She closed her eyes and slowly nodded, and as she did a single tear slipped down her bruised cheek. She leaned back against the bed, her head turned into the back of the bed as she tried to hide those tears from Steve. She had been trying to keep a straight face, but the simple reality had hit her as Steve spoke his name. Her bottom lip began to tremble softly, and yet she kept her eyes closed so to keep the tears back.

Steve didn't know whether to stay and comfort her, or leave to let her process it on her own. Leaning forward, he placed a reassuring hand gently on her shoulder, as he said sadly,

"I'm so sorry Natasha…"

She nodded quickly, her eyes still closed and her jaw clenched so her lip wouldn't tremble. Steve could tell she was restraining her emotions, she didn't want a pity, or to break down in front of him.

He kept his hand on her shoulder as he stood up, as he said finally,

"If you need anything, I'm here for you. Okay?"

She nodded half heartedly, as if her energy was fading. He loosened his grip on her shoulder, eyes sadly looking back at her once, and then left without another word.

Natasha was released from the hospital a day later. The doctors were shocked that she was able to make such a quick recovery, but she would need to use a crutch to walk for the next few days. Her hand that got stabbed was wrapped and put into a sling, which she would have to wear for a few days as well.

When she was released, Steve took it upon himself to take her back to his place. He didn't want Natasha to stay at her house, empty and alone, so he insisted she stayed with him and Tony till she was able to walk.

In her time staying with Steve, she didn't talk much. Steve would attempt to make conversation with her, but she acted like she didn't even hear him. During meals she would not eat anything, unless Steve made a comment about it. She'd rather eat than argue with him.

She rarely drank anything on her own, so Steve would often place a glass of water on her night stand, or offer her a glass during the day. She would go nights with very little sleep, which became evident by the dark circles under her eyes. Steve grew very worried for her wellbeing, and in the few days she stayed with him, he did everything he could for her.

One particularly long nights, Steve found her by herself on the balcony, looking up at the night sky as she leaned back against the house. Steve made his way out on the balcony with her, but upon feeling how cold it was he made his way back inside for a second. The evening breeze would blow and make her shiver slightly, but Steve came back out and laid a small blanket over her shoulders. Her thin delicate hands grasped the blanket, her eyes look up at him gratefully. He went back inside, only to return with a warm cup of tea, which he kneeled down and gave to her. She held the cup carefully, cold fingers being warmed by the cup as she raised it to her lips and blew softly.

She turned towards him, eyes softened and as the ghost of a smile showed as she spoke quietly, "Thank you."

He smiled back at her, glad to hear a few words come out from her. In the few days she stayed with him, he never brought up Clint. Of course, he'd always be open to talking to Natasha if she wanted to, but that seemed like the last thing she wanted right now. Instead, it was the small things that Steve tried his hardest to help with, wether it was to make sure she ate, or to help support her weight and move around the house with her broken leg. He had grown extremely protective of the young widowed assassin, and while he noticed she was remarkably strong, for she hadn't cried nor even broken down once, he would always be there for her. Natasha, while she didn't come out and say it, was forever grateful for Steve's support.

The SHIELD waiting area had a bitter chill to the air, to the point it may make anyone feel uncomfortable. To agent Natasha Romanoff, everything seemed more intensified, whether it be the cold or the noise of talking agents. The cold was the last thing that bothered her.

She sat quietly with Steve and Bruce, yet she hadn't spoken a word to either of them today. She sat tall and properly in the chair, but her gaze was empty. Eyes focused on empty space, it was impossible to tell what was going through her mind, except for the fact she was lost and devastated.

She was physically stable, in exception for her right leg which still had a brace on it, and her bandaged hand. However mentally, she was a mess. Even if her eyes no longer struggled to hold back small tears, she was silently grieving. The shock had worn off, and now Natasha didn't even have the slightest trouble in shutting the world out. This was too personal for her to share her feelings with anyone. The fact that only person who she could imagine seeking comfort from was dead, only made things worse.

Today was a day all the Avengers, especially Natasha, were dreading. Today was Clint Barton's funeral.

Formal procedures such as funerals were handled very carefully by SHIELD, the work that went into planning such formalities was to put lightly, a pain. Steve knew Natasha wouldn't be able to handle planning everything on her own, and so he stepped up to do the majority of the work for her. Fury argued that she needed to be more involved, because he was her spouse, but Steve argued back, claiming it would be harder for Natasha. Eventually Fury got tired of arguing, and so agreed to Rogers' terms.

Steve wore a formal black suit, with a ironed white shirt and an ebony black tie. His blonde hair very nicely combed back, and his black shoes polished, all making him look very sharp. Bruce wore an older more worn black jacket, with a black shirt underneath. His hair was slightly unkempt and he forgot to shave, yet he still looked very nice and professional. Tony had elected to arrive later, and while Steve knew he was taking all this very hard, Pepper assured him that she would make sure Tony came on time for the actual ceremony. SHIELD also received contact from Thor that he would be able to attend.

But of all the people who gathered in this room, surprisingly the most calm was Natasha. Unlike Steve, who kept rushing out of his chair to talk to agents, or Bruce who was muttering under his breath nervously and occasionally stepping into the negotiations, Natasha just sat there. Calm, quiet, most likely deep in thought. She sat there silently, thin pale hands laid calmly over her crossed legs. Her red locks were straightened and reflected the glow of the golden morning light tinting it a radiant amber color. She wore a sleek black dress, with a very minimal amount of makeup, but just enough to hide the dark circles under her eyes, or the bruises and cuts on her cheeks. Of course her one hand was still wrapped, and she would walk with a limp, but she looked exceptionally beautiful. In addition to the seemingly simple black dress, she also wore a silver necklace necklace which had an arrow pendent on it, a necklace Clint had given to her several years ago, right before he was sent on a three month long mission. Ever since then she had found herself wearing the necklace whenever he was absent.

As she continued to wait in silence her gaze would vary from staring out the glass window, to out in space, or down at her folded hands. It seemed like she had waited hours before Steve finally came back out with a frustrated and exhausted Nick Fury with him.

Shutting the door behind him, Nick pulled up a chair and sat down next to the assassin as he took a breath and spoke up in his usual gruff voice,

"Agent Romanoff, I apologize for the wait but Steve and I had a few last minute things to take care of. But all the arrangements have been made, and there's nothing you need to worry about now."

Steve interrupted him quickly and said, "I just planned everything we had talked about earlier with Fury, but again it's all going to be alright. But, is there anything you want, or need?"

She replied quickly and almost confident in her request as she looked Fury right in the eye and said,

"I want to see him."

Her request took Nick Fury by surprise, he thought that would be the last thing she would want to do, but he didn't refuse. He turned around to Steve and spoke quickly,

"Very well then. Rogers, can you escort her please?" He asked as he turned on his heel, nodded to Steve sternly, and walked away without another word.

The walk down the long yet empty SHIELD hallway was silent, as Steve continued to look back at Natasha. Her head was bowed and her eyes looking towards the floor, yet she remained right behind him. As they rounded the corner they came to a large set of metallic doors, Steve took a breath and turned to Natasha, his soft eyes meeting hers as he asked calmly,

"You don't have to do this alone, I can come in with you if you want?"

She softly shook her head and seemed to take a moment to collect herself before saying in her dry yet softly solemn tone,

"No. I'd like to be alone."

Steve nodded understably, Natasha was one who liked to keep to herself. He wasn't sure how healthy it was, but it was how she dealt with things. He opened the large doors for her and quietly shut them behind her.

Keeping her head still down she walked swiftly, her black heels clicking on the metallic floor as she clutched her pale white hands. This room was warmer in temperature and more confined than the stark lobby, but that didn't make her feel any better. As she approached the front of the room she willed herself to look up upon a beautifully crafted dark wooden casket, in which her husband laid.

The thought of it all made her head spin, she suddenly felt both nauseous and sick, very uncommon feelings to her seeing as she had a pretty tough stomach. A part of her wanted to break down right here, and fade away, so she wouldn't have to face this. But she didn't back away, or break down. No she had told herself, promised herself, she would be strong. And while her footsteps grew slower, almost hesitant, and her eyes began to lose their sharp gleam, she walked right up to him. Her heart raced, her palms sweated slightly, and her jaw was clenched tight. It took every ounce of strength she had to keep herself together, because she didn't want to see him, not like that. The thought of seeing him, lifeless and stiff, it made her fearful and nervous, which were again uncommon feelings for her.

She walked right up to him, as she forced her emerald eyes to look and accept what was before her. As soon as her gaze fell over him, all that anxiety and fear melted away, replaced by deeply rooted compassion, and raw sorrow. She felt both a protective warmth of love, and a cold blow of grief, hit her all at once. Her thin lips parted as she spoke, in almost a breath like whisper,

"Oh Clint…"

He laid there still and lifeless, his body in stark contrast to the pure white lining of the casket. He wore a fitted black suit, and in the casket, laid gently next to him, was his bow. His blonde brown hair was combed back neatly, to the point he looked much more formal than usual.

Because of this, it was almost hard at first for Natasha to even process it was him, because the last she had seen him was after the fall, when they were both bloodied and scarred. In fact, he didn't even appear like he had died in battle, because only a few scars could be seen on his face, and those were mostly from missions before their last.

But, while he didn't look like his usual scarred and beaten self, he looked like himself. He had the same gentle facial features, that Natasha could recognize anywhere as him. There was no doubt in the world that this was Clint Barton.

He was too still, so still it seemed as if his dead weight was sinking him into the lining of the casket. He was abnormally pale, his face a washed out grey color. His chest was flat and still, and his eyes firmly closed. This wasn't like seeing him injured, asleep, or even unconscious, because he was gone. There wasn't a single sign of life or existence to be found in his still body. There was no chance he would ever wake up and regain his self conscious. No, all she had left of Clint was this empty body.

Unlike many, who claim when seeing their deceased love ones, that they look peaceful, Natasha felt the exact opposite. It didn't matter if he looked peaceful or not, she knew his death was violent and painful. She wasn't going to lie to herself, because she was there. She had held his bleeding body, stared into his dead eyes, and felt his snapped neck. She wanted to believe he looked peaceful, but the traumatizing images she had would prevent her from seeing him that way.

Taking a deep inhale, she placed her hands upon the edge of the coffin for stability as she tilted her head downward, and suddenly was gazing upon his pale hands, which were folded over his torso. She felt a twinge of pain when seeing the silver ring around his finger, as it was just another reminder of memories, and of how much this man once loved her. She looked down at her own ring, but as she did she shut her eyes to keep away the tears that threatened to build up.

Out of nowhere she took another quick inhale, clenching her jaw and trying to blink away the incoming tears as she looked upward so she didn't have to look at him and spoke as freely as she could,

"God dammit Clint...you always rambled on about how I would outlive you, I guess I just thought you were, I don't know, joking..."

She tried to talk as she usually would, dry but with a fiery tone, but as soon as she began to talk her voice cracked. She had to take several breaths between words, and with each word she became more of a mess. She took a quick moment to attempt to calm herself before speaking up again,

"But now, I mean you're gone. And I...I don't know what to do."

Her voice lowered softly and then trailed off sadly, because she truly didn't know what she was going to do. After today, she would have to move on, but how could she? She inhaled slowly and continued to talk barely above a whisper,

"Clint, I thought I was strong. My life, or a good part of it, has been a living hell, and only you truly know that, know what I've been through. But this, this is the hardest thing I will ever have to live through. And, I don't even know if I will be able to get through this...it's all just overwhelming to think about, really..."

Her voice trailed off again, but as she continued she found herself talking more freely, opening up to him as she would whenever she would need his support.

Natasha knew this would be the last time she ever saw him, saw the man she had spent years caring for and eventually loving. She just tried to stay strong for the few moments she could, but the thought of never seeing him, of not having him in her life, it took over all her emotions and thoughts.

"It's been hard, just going several days without you, nonetheless a lifetime. But you had your plans, and while I don't understand why it had to be this way...I will be as strong as I can, I'll try, Clint."

She looked down at him, eyes which were glossed with tears looking at him as if addressing him as she spoke,

"I will never forget you, Clint. I will never forget the life you gave me, and everything we had."

She felt a streak of a tear run down her face, and she didn't even have the will to stop it. She continued to talk through the oncoming tears, her voice cracking and distorting, but she hardly cared,

"I'm going to miss you..."

She suddenly felt it all build up within her, the tears began to run out slowly, but endlessly. Her one leg gave out beneath her and she collapsed hard onto the cold floor. Physical pain shot up her leg and through her back, as her emotional thoughts suffocated her. For what seemed like hours, she kneeled there, softly sobbing beside him, with nothing but her own feelings of being lost and alone.

She didn't know how long she was on the floor, weeping to herself, but she knew she wasn't being strong. Her husband, her dearest friend and partner, was strong enough to die for her. Strong enough to disobey Fury and save her, all those years ago. And she couldn't repay him like this, by crying over his death, on the floor. It was selfish of her really, for while she was here to show her respects, and say her final goodbyes to him, she was now spending most of the time crying to herself.

But after several long moments of allowing, for once, all her emotions to get the better of her, she slowly got to her feet. She eventually stopped shaking and crying, as she inhaled calmly. Now, even with herself calmed down, she still held back tears, which made her sharp eyes gleam as she spoke at last, her voice almost inaudible and cracked,

"Why'd you have to do this to me, Clint?"

It was the only words she could get out, and she knew her time with him was coming to an end. After all, the other agents and Avengers had already long paid their respects to their fallen partner and fellow agent, and the actual service would start soon. Natasha didn't like being put under the clock, nor did she think any amount of time would be enough for her to say goodbye to the one man that meant everything to her.

She would never be ready to walk away and move on, to continue with her life. Because, he was a large part of her life, and without him, she probably would be dead, or worse. But she had already decided she would live, even if it meant without him and so she couldn't go back now.

Natasha had brought in with her a long sleek black metallic arrow, which she now leaned down and picked up. She looked down at the arrow, seeing her own reflection in it's black surface as she gripped it tightly for a moment and then carefully slid it into the casket beside him, as she spoke under her breath,

"You may not know this, but ...when they found us, you had two arrows left in your quiver. You, take this one with you, and I'll hang onto the other one for a little bit."

She looked down upon him once again, sad eyes shining fondly as she remembered everything about him that she loved so dearly. He would never speak to her again, nor would she ever be drawn away from the horrors of reality by his gentle voice. She would never hear him laugh again. She would never be able to lay her head on his chest and have him hold her reassuringly when nightmares compromised her sleep again. His firmly closed, yet relaxed, eyes reminded her that she would never look into his expressive eyes again.

She placed a gentle hand upon his head, and then softly ran her thin hand through his soft brown blonde hair. By doing so, she moved several strands of hair out of place, slightly messing up how formally his hair was combed back. He looked more like himself like that.

As she stroked his hair one last time, she blinked back a tear as she spoke in a vulnerably tender and quiet voice,

"I love you."

She then leaned over and lovingly kissed his forehead, which was cold against the touch of her lips. She knew he was gone, and that his lifeless body could not feel her affectionate kiss. But she had loved Clint, and she wanted to part with all that remained of her husband through an act of endearment.

She didn't look back after that. She had accepted that there was nothing there for her anymore, and that nothing more needed to be said or done. She gained no strength or even closure, just the brutal visual realization of all she had lost. How she wished she never had to see him striped of life, and now she had to move on.

She didn't really know how she was going to, or if she ever really would be able to move on. But she wouldn't give up. Because while Natasha was far from religious or spiritual, she did believe that Clint was somehow, in someway or another, still with her, and still loved her. And, she would keep going for him.


	6. Taps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies that it has been awhile since I have updated. School has been taking up a lot of my time, but I decided to set aside time tonight to get this chapter up. This chapter, like a lot of the other ones, is emotionally heavy. However, going forward with newer material, besides maybe the next two chapters, they won't be as emotionally harrowing. In fact there will be a lot more flashbacks, with the chapter connecting to the overall plot at the end. So you'll have that to look forward to, and I look forward to writing it.
> 
> One note about this chapter, if you can I would suggest listening to American Sniper's The Funeral (Taps) soundtrack while reading. It's a beautiful piece of music, and I wrote this while listening to it. I'll link a place you can listen to it on, just copy and paste the link: watch?v=vm5Hu_oK40s

Grey sheets of heavy clouds hung in the endless sky as a gentle yet remarkably cool breeze descended down upon the ground. It was the end of June, and this was the first day in weeks that the heat was not unbearable. The dark grey clouds managed to shield away the bright light of the sun, but at the same time there was no chance for rain, even though Natasha wished it would.

Maybe this all wouldn't be as hard if this wasn't the first funeral she had ever attended, well, funeral for someone she cared about that is. Death was something she granted to others, and for the longest time it wasn't a threat to her. She had nothing to lose, because if she succeeded she would take a life, and if she failed her life would be taken. When she was a KGB agent there was no prolonged guilt or consequences, it was survival of the fittest. But now, she wasn't the one doing the killing, or having her life threatened, but she was in death's mockery. Now, death did not take mercy on her.

The simple thought of where she was and why she was here, was unbearably numbing. As people gathered out of their cars, talking amongst themselves as if everything were normal, she stood silently, waiting for the ceremony to start. She knew what she was feeling, but didn't know if it was right. She didn't know if her grief was enough, if it was doing Clint justice.

After all, no one tells you how your suppose to feel or react to grief. Society tends to give the impression that any emotion is the right one, and that you can react to triumph or tragedy in any way; that there is no right or wrong. But that wasn't true for Natasha, and after spending half her life as a brutally ruthless hunter, most emotions tended to be a foreign concept. For the longest time she didn't have to feel anything, for anyone. She was exactly what she was trained and made to be, a mindless killer. Like a dog whose only purpose in life is to fight, who knows no love, just survival.

But that was one of the many priceless contributions Clint Barton granted to the young woman's life. He showed her what emotions were, and essentially, taught her to be human. He loved her despite the fact that she didn't know what love was at first. His understanding and compassion, was what allowed her a second chance at life. Having the privilege of loving such a man made her nearly empty life, worth living.

Now here she stood, quietly trying to even fathom what to do now. Without Clint, would she slip back into her old self? Her insecurity of thought was evident as she clenched her hands tightly, and her head was gently tilted down, to avoid eye contact with others. Natasha was grateful that only a minimal amount of people showed up. There were less than twenty agents of SHIELD, several other government, police, and military officials. They all calmly stood around the gravesite, and Natasha remained silent as they waited.

The hearse arrived and behind it Steve, Sam, Rhodey, Tony, Thor, and Bruce. Since SHIELD respectfully served the U.S. government, an American flag was draped over Clint's casket. Natasha watched from afar as the six men carried Clint downhill. Despite being a super soldier, it took Steve all his energy to march forward. They carried the fallen Avenger, in one final act as a team. They beared the weight of the broken team.

After the casket was laid down before the crowd, the service began with a series of speeches. Natasha avoided looking up at the speakers, or the casket. Instead she looked down, at her white clenched hands, or at her black heels as they dug into the dirt. The dull shade of the clouds made her sleek ebony black dress even darker, and her fiery red hair a deep crimson. Her blank emotionless face was even paler in the unsaturated atmosphere, and her sharp eyes glazed with that of empty thoughts.

Finally, Steve stepped forward to deliver the team's eulogy for their fallen comrade. He had a confidently serious and formal look to his sophisticated gestures, but that was only masking an unstable layer of melancholy. Clearing his throat, the super soldier nodded to himself, taking a moment to gather himself before speaking in a doleful yet strong voice,

"I've been a soldier since the Second World War, seeing battles against the most dangerous of enemies. Anyone who has put their lives on the line for a greater good, another cause, in an act of selflessness has seen war's true devastation. We lose men, and we sometimes lose ourselves. But, despite this all, the impact of a sacrifice immortal."

The blonde haired man grit his large jaw for a moment, and took in a quick sharp inhale as his blue eyes gazed skyward for a brief second, before continuing right where he left off, his voice more resonant and clear as he gained composure,

"Clint Barton was not just one of the bravest men I have ever known, but one of the most admirable people I have met in the entire 90 years of my life. Yes, I worked closely with him, but it wasn't just his work that defined his absolute and devoted nature, but his personality. Being an Avenger, Clint was constantly surrounded by super humans with ungodly powers, but he was the one who kept us all grounded. He was the most genuine, the most human of us all, which is far from a flaw. As a team, we survived many hardships and battles because of Clint's level head of thinking. Ironically, at times he was so reasonably accurate in his way of fighting and his strategies, that we were all completely oblivious to how vulnerable a human life really can be. He defied many limits in his life, and not only that but he changed the lives of some of the most powerful beings on this earth."

As he spoke this Steve's deep blue eyes looked upward and towards where his other fellow Avengers stood, their gazes all laced with respect as he spoke on behalf of them all. All of them, besides Natasha, had helped to write the eulogy, but Steve did most of the writing and volunteered to speak.

" But Clint's ability to defy the limits should not overshadow who he really was. He was sensible in every way, but yet could be just as reckless as any of us. He was very cordial, but this mixed with his wry and sarcastic nature always kept our spirits lifted in the darkest of times. By nature he would act overconfident, but deep down he was humble, and kept us on the right track so we could succeed. Agent Barton may not have been the strongest Avenger physically, but it is because of him that the Avengers are here today."

As Steve described her late husband, Natasha's heart began to yearn. It made her think, truly and deeply, of why she had loved the man she did. It was almost enough to bring a small set of tears to the assassin's grief-stricken eyes, but she forced those burning tears away as she looked up at Steve.

"And here we are, celebrating his sadly short but fully lived life. A causality of war some may call him now, but it's unfair to say he was merely shot down. Clint Barton gave his life willingly, so people like us could fight on against the very evil he fought so hard against. Life is short and delicate, but shouldn't be treated as so, because in truth a life can be everlasting. After all, only those we let fade from our memory truly die. I know for a fact, that as long as myself and my other teammates live, so will Clint Barton. Yes, he will be missed, but his memory will make us stronger. He will be remembered, and not as a fallen soldier, but for the life he lived and died for. We are still whole as a team, for when we fight he fights beside us. And when more of us fall, he will still be beside us."

Natasha was still comprehending Steve's words as several military officials, folded the draped flag, and one of them handed it to Natasha. Steve walked forward and put a hand on her shoulder, as her thin and scarred hands took the soft folded fabric into her arms. The serviceman saluted her, and she nodded and exhaled slowly. It was then that everyone at the service knew Natasha was more than a combat partner to Clint. A wave of glances filled with empathy fell upon Natasha, but she was too numb to feel their stares. She looked down at the flag which she held against her chest, clinging to the few things Clint would leave behind.

As three rounds of seven riflemen fired, Natasha saw her and Clint being cornered by Hydra. She saw herself getting shot, and leaving to Clint to kill himself in order to save her. She held the flag harder, but this only made her feel worse as she realized her source of comfort was coming from a lifeless piece of cloth.

The solemn rhythm of Taps seronnated calmly, but even the pastoral melody of the trumpet conjured up images of seeing her husband's lifeless body. It was in peaceful moments, that her violated memories seemed to attack her. She held the flag closer to her chest, tipping her head so brief tears could fall onto the sea dark blue cloth. The melody faded, and soon everyone began to walk away, it was over.

Natasha stood silently under the ebony shade of a large tree as she waited for everyone to leave. She stayed clear of the crowd, not wanting to talk to anyone who felt sorry for her. Thankfully, Steve and the other Avengers tried their best to politely tell anyone who wished to give their condolences, that Natasha wanted to be alone.

Her eyes gazed over the beautiful descending hill as people made their way back to the cars they drove to the cemetery. The afternoon sun was starting to set slowly and the day's warmth seemed to seep away with it. As Steve and Sam were shaking hands to say thank you to the men in uniform, the four remaining avengers gathered around.

"I gotta say, you had a very smooth delivery there, Rogers. Nearly made me tear up," remarked Tony in a sober yet still sarcastic tone.

Steve only gave Tony a faint sad smile as he stood there quietly.

"It was well written though, it held much depth." Thor remarked quickly in his usual stoic deep tone.

"I think it gave him a good send of though, I mean I think it really captured his whole life and what he'll leave behind. Do we think Natasha...is alright?" Asked a very soft toned and worried Bruce Banner.

Steve shook his head as he looked over to where she still stood, alone.

"Of course she isn't, she's heartbroken."

Thor nodded, and added sadly,

"Yes, but I'm afraid if any of us tried to talk to her, it would only make things worse."

Tony looked over to where she stood silently by herself as he suddenly seemed to lose his slight sarcastic nature and said,

"Well at the least, someone should make sure she gets home alright. I'm heading out now, I work."

And with that he left without another word. Everyone knew Tony wasn't one for emotions, and felt insecure when he was experiencing his own personal troubles. Yet the Avengers had never faced such a tragedy of this size before.

As he climbed the hill towards his car, the force of gravity seemed to bear down upon him. His sleek blazer held a small red rose in the pocket of his suit, all the Avengers bore one. On his way back to his car, he once again passed where Clint's dark brown coffin was placed, and would be buried later in the day. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him, before deciding he'd pay one last respect to his fallen teammate, and friend, while he still had the strength to. The usually selfish and egocentric man seemed to be overwhelmed by his emotions for his friend as he clenched his jaw and quickly reached a shaky hand upward towards the rose as he fumbled it in his hands for a moment before placing the scarlet flower on top of the coffin before turning and walking away quickly.

Tony did he turn around after he walked away, and he would never again come to pay his respects. Tony was a realist, an atheist, and a logical thinker. In his mind there was no reason to even think of, or fondly remember the deceased, because they were gone. And maybe that's what made emotional traumas like this so hard for Tony, because they really were permanent goodbyes.

Bruce's keen observation caught Tony's final sentimental act and he quickly excused himself from the group of Avengers and walked down the lonely hill towards Natasha as he nervously unbuttoned and buttoned his black jacket. A soft breeze rustled through his hair as he approached her and cleared his throat to get her attention because she didn't seem to notice he was even there.

"Natasha...I..." His voice was soft and trailed off as he waited for her to look at him before continuing.

Her sharp eyes were not staring into empty space like some madly lost person, but rather around the green hills and beautiful trees of the land around her. Despite being emotionally unstable, her face reflected that of someone at peace, even if it was a tragic sense of peace. The breeze picked up and blew her dark red straightened locks as she turned her head to face Bruce, her expressions softer than they had been in the last couple days.

"I'm...I'm so sorry," he finished finally, his voice soft and filled with remorse.

It didn't even sound like the compassionate man could have the ability to turn into the Hulk. His eyes were also soft, and his voice almost soothingly calm, yet filled with so much care for the young Russian.

"Things will get better...I mean it's hard to think like that now, but they will."

The almost humbled man rolled on his heels and took a short break in his speech to pull his head up and look over the serene sight before him as he continued,

"It's beautiful out here"

"He would have liked it," Natasha said sadly yet approvingly.

Bruce turned to her and spoke, "He had one hell of a life though, and I'm sure he doesn't regret what he did. And no matter how hard it is for us to accept that, I suppose we have to. You'll be alright though...and so will he."

Bruce's gentle voice trailed off as his eyes looked from the ground to the beautiful sunset, and then back to Natasha.

She smiled sadly, looking down to the ground and nodded half to herself as she spoke in a hoarse voice that was nearly inaudible, more a breath than a voice,

"Thank you..."

He gave a sad smile and placed a reassuring hand on her very thin shoulder,

"Just take care of yourself. I'm here if you need anything, anything at all."

She faintly nodded again and their conversation ended with that. Bruce knew Natasha didn't want to talk long, but he just wanted her to know he was there, and that he cared. The older Avenger walked up the same hill Tony did, taking out his own darker red rose from his pocket, and placed it beside Tony's. He took a moment to stand there at the head of the wooden coffin, head bowed and hands folded as he took a moment just to pay his own respects before leaving as well.

Natasha began to walk uphill, her eyes gazing around at the few people who remained. It was as she walked that she hardly noticed who she was about to bump into, until she did. Gentle hands grabbed her thin arms as she looked up startled to the man she almost ran into, Phil Coulson. Her glossy eyes immediately darted down, knowing Phil of all people would be able to see past her emotionless state and see the true sorrow that had taken hold of her.

But he didn't say anything, he simply smiled dolefully and gently rubbed her arm, as he held her softly. She subtly, so not to attract attention, fell into his embrace, as he continued to rub her softly on the back. He hugged her gently, as he nodded and the smallest tear streamed down his face.

"It's hard...I know it is..." Phil said in a quiet voice as he continued to hold her.

She continued to nod, yet seeked comfort from Phil's embrace.

"As soon as I heard, I…"

His voice trailed off and his lip trembled slightly, as he let go of her form and looked down at her.

Natasha didn't say anything in return, nothing more needed to be said. She just let herself embrace the closest man she had to a father. Phil realized she didn't want to talks and so he simply just let her pour her feelings out in their brief sentimental moment. He continued to pat her back to try ease the distressed woman,

Phil had known Clint longer than Natasha had, and Phil had an almost mentoring like relationship with him, in many ways he was like a son to Phil. There was much grief that flooded Phil's eyes, as he tried to keep his composure, but as Natasha looked up at the man who had been through death and back, literally, she couldn't help but feel tears sting at her eyes, and she wasn't reluctant to let them flow now...because of all people who would understand why she would be crying, it would be Phil.

Higher up the hill of green vibrant grass next to the lonely yet peaceful spot where Clint Barton would be laid to rest, Steve Rogers stood tall and silent next to the casket, his hands in his pockets and his head down. The sun's rays silhouetted his form against the bright amber sky, but close up the sun's rays made his blonde locks golden and his blue eyes have a warm glean. Steve seemed to be almost gathering his thoughts, as the evening's incoming breeze blew through his hair as he finally began to talk out loud, his head remained bowed as he did so,

"You know, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

He started, and then quickly paused as if he was expecting an answer. His eyes gazed skyward and then quickly glanced back down at his black glossed shoes as he continued in a voice that was barely audible.

"Losing a soldier, a teammate, I mean. We started this team five... six years ago, and when we did, I knew as long as we continued like this...something was bound to happen. Soldiers die in war, and why would we be any different? But I mean, now you're...gone. And the team will never be the same, will never be whole, without you."

Steve paused his soft speech, and as he looked up saw himself in the reflection of the casket's dark wood.

"People think just because I'm a super soldiers that I am stronger. Well...Clint god damn it, right now I feel weak, I feel helpless. I should be stronger than this, strong for Natasha...but I'll miss you. Everyone will. No matter how much time passes, and no matter what happens to the team, no one is going to forget you."

Steve, like all the other Avengers, pulled his large crimson red rose out of his suit pocket, and twirled the flower in his hand for a moment. He breathed in a slow shallow breath and closed his blue eyes for a moment as he laid the rose beside the other three that rested on the sleek dark wood.

Steve reached out his hand and placed it carefully on the smooth wood of the casket, which was very cold against the palm of his hand, as he spoke in the most soft spoken yet quietly respectful voice,

"Rest easy, my friend. you've served us, and this world, well. I promise you, I will look after her."

He backed up very stately, posture firm like the soldier he was, but eyes still pooling with emotions. With that Steve began to walk away from the casket, his eyes holding a respectful sadness to them, but there was a strength in his step. He looked upward to see the silhouetted form of a woman standing near her car, and he quickly walked up to her, immediately knowing who it was.

"Natasha..."

He spoke out softly as he approached her and her head quickly jerked towards him, her sharp eyes locking on his.

Her thin hands were fumbling with her keys, but her eyes and facial gestures suggested a distressed and almost lost look, which she tried desperately hard to hide. She clenched her jaw and pushed a strand of dark red hair behind her ear as she looked at him, raising a brow as if waiting for him to continue talking

.

Steve's shoes hit the asphalt as he walked up to her and nodded softly, finding himself embarrassingly lost in what to say. His eyes looked at hers, and for once she didn't immediately look the other way, but instead looked up right at him. A sudden gust of wind blew and made her hold the flag and her black jacket closer to her, as Steve finally spoke up.

"Do you want to sleep at the tower tonight, you know I have extra space on my floor."

She shook her head softly and said, her voice low and laced with a deep subtle sadness,

"No...Lucky's still at the house, and it's about time I go back home. But thank you for the offer."

Her voice was almost strained and Steve knew she was still having a hard time just coping in general, but yet while he was concerned for her he didn't want to be overpowering. He placed a gently hand on her arm and nodded.

"Call me if you need anything, I'll drop by sometime tomorrow morning, take care of yourself."

Steve knew how hard it would be for Natasha to go home and live again in the apartment her and Clint shared. He wished Natasha didn't have to face reminder after reminder that her best friend and husband was gone, and yet there was still something he needed to do. As Natasha opened the door to her car, and gently placed the folded flag on her seat, Steve pulled a small little velvet bag from his pocket and put it in her palm.

"Coulson wanted me to give you this. You sure you're okay?"

Natasha's thin hand stretched out and grasped the small little velvety drawstring bag, as she nodded faintly and looked Steve right in the eye again and said,

"No...but there's nothing really that can change that."

Steve nodded, regretting he even asked. Ne gently closed the car door for her, and turned around on his heel to walk towards his own car. Natasha sat for a moment in her car, looking back down over the cemetery and then to the blackish purplish sky. She carefully opened the small bag, and let the contents slide out onto her palm. A beautiful yet cold silver ring on a chain fell into her hand, and Natasha realized immediately what it was and a sharp pang quickly hit her heart. She felt a one last tear slowly make its way down her cheek as she clutched the ring in her hand and held it close to her chest, as she felt her whole body go numb, with the harrowing loneliness that suddenly fell upon her. She placed the ring on top of the flag, and drove away from her husband. It was a long and lonely drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will do my best to update soon, but I assure you this story is not over. It's just finding the time to sit down and write can be hard. All feedback is much appreciated, and as always thank you to my consistent readers and supporters. You are the reason I continue to write, and as always I hope you enjoyed.


	7. Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of chapter named after the song "Without You" by Oh Wonder 
> 
> The next three chapters of this fic will be set over the course of a week. This being the first two days Natasha spends alone, it explores her character psychology when it comes to her handling with her loss. The next chapter will deal a lot with the emotions / grief of the other Avengers, and will be written and uploaded soon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please know the one-shot I posted called "Your Song" is actually in the same universe as this fanfiction. If you'd like to check it out, there will be maybe one small reference to it in this chapter. However the entire one-shot will be included as a "flashback" in the next chapter.

Standing in the doorframe of the dark and silent apartment, Natasha felt as if her legs were about to give way under her. Over the course of a week she had barely survived falling from a 30 story building, had surgery twice, broke her leg, went into a coma for three days, and lost her husband. But just like after every mission, she was now home. 

Turning on the blinding lights, Natasha quietly shut the door behind her and locked both of the locks on the door. These locks hadn’t been used since someone else owned the apartment. She took small steps due to the brace on her leg, but also because she subconsciously didn’t want to be here. She set the folded flag and Clint’s ring on the counter of island in the kitchen, as she leaned up against the island, bearing her weight on it’s surface. The granite felt like ice, and despite it being in the middle of June, the whole apartment was freezing. 

On the counter by her hand was a pair of keys. She eyed the small silver objects reluctantly as she was forced to remember the seemingly normal life she lived a week ago. It was 5 o’clock in the morning when Fury called them in for a mission, and Natasha was the one to get up and answer the call. Clint had worked late the night before, so she let him sleep an extra twenty minutes while she packed what they would need in her car. She eventually had to practically drag him out of bed, like she usually had to do whenever they were called in for a mission early in the morning. But if she had known what was going to happen that day, she would have never woken him up. 

When he was finally ready, he grabbed his car keys but Natasha told him she had already packed everything in the car. Clint made a tired yet relieved remark about how he thought for a minute he had lost his bow, and Natasha rolled her eyes at her husband’s unorganized nature as she handed him a cup of coffee. Clint set his car keys down on the counter, and followed her outside, not knowing he would never return to their home. And now Natasha returned home only to face constant small yet painful reminders of what she lost.

Natasha violently pushed the keys off the counter, but the sound of them hitting the floor was followed by the rapid scrapes against the wood flooring as a large golden dog sprinted into the living room. Skidding to a halt, the dog’s tail wagged rapidly as his hopeful eye looked around for his owners. Natasha lowered her head into her hands as Lucky barked, and finally rushed over to where she stood, happily trying to paw at her leg for attention. Natasha gruffly pushed the dog off her leg, as she walked into her room to change. 

When she came back out, Lucky sat by the door, his eye focused on the doorknob, waiting for his other owner to return. His tail wagged rapidly as he sat there, but the dog’s optimistic patience made Natasha feel almost sick, because she knew the hard truth. Walking over she took the dog’s collar and lead him into her bedroom, closing the door. She didn’t want to sleep in her own bed tonight, so instead she slept on the couch. Except to say that she actually slept was putting it lightly, because in reality she only stayed asleep until the nightmares began. They would always consist of what she saw on that last mission. Whether it be having to stare into her husband’s lifeless face without being able to look away, or watching him die over and over again as she stood from afar, unable to do anything. The images were vivid and painful, but all too familiar. As the night grew longer, the more gory the images became. One dream even brought her back to her days in the KGB, where she saw herself shoot Clint in the head at point blank range. 

She would jolt awake from these distorted memories, her hands and body shaking as she was covered in a cold sweat. Reaching from comfort, all she found were stiff couch pillows, when normally it would be Clint who would wrap his arms around her in support whenever she awoke with nightmares of her past. Finding no support in these inanimate objects, she pulled at her red hair as she held her knees close to her chest. Her hands trembled so much she could barely hold her knees close to her. She subconsciously bit at her lip so hard that she began to taste blood, but she mistook this blood as another hallucination in her nightmares. Natasha got no sleep on that first night by herself. 

 

It was the next morning that Bruce was surprised to find the door locked when he came to Natasha’s apartment. Knocking gently on the door, Natasha inhaled sharply as she willed herself to stand up and get the door. Bruce stood outside, his face suddenly filled with concern as he looked at Natasha. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hands shook, and her lip looked as if it were cut in several places. But he didn’t say anything about her apparently vulnerable appearance, because he didn’t want to burden her with anymore worry. He knew she was already dealing with enough. 

Before Natasha could even ask why he was here, he spoke quickly, as if nervous to even say anything to her, 

“Tony and I found some of Clint’s stuff at the tower, and he asked me to bring it over to you.” 

Natasha didn’t say anything, but simply crossed her arms and exhaled slowly, avoiding eye contact with Bruce. The past twenty four hours were about just getting through the day, but seeing as she managed to do that, she now had to face the fact that Clint left a life behind. And now it was up to her to face that reality, and sort out everything for him. 

Staring at the cardboard box by Bruce’s feet, she nodded half heartedly and Bruce brought it in. 

Her eyes grew cold and emotionless as she looked at the box, and then to Bruce. She didn’t mean to come across cold, but it was her only defense mechanism. Small things like keys and cardboard boxes were suddenly tearing apart her emotional strength. She stood there silently, waiting for Bruce to talk to her, but in truth he didn’t know what to say. 

What Natasha didn’t know was that Bruce had had his fill of dealing with emotional people already this morning. He awoke to Tony frantically cleaning out Clint’s temporary room in the tower at 5 in the morning. All the Avengers had their own room in the tower, despite the fact that a majority of them lived outside Tony’s place. 

When asking what he was doing Tony couldn’t give an answer. Bruce was pretty confident Tony was drunk at the time, but it was hard to see his friend so unsettled. Bruce worked to help Tony, and tried to hint that if Tony needed to talk, he was there. But it was when Bruce tried to offer emotional support that Tony got up and left the room, yelling as he left, “Take that over to Natasha’s”. 

Bruce pulled his car keys out of his pocket, preparing to cut the packaging tape off the box as he asked, “Do you want me to help you unpack this all…” 

Natasha bluntly shook her head, turning her back on Bruce she spoke in a distant and empty voice, "I can do it.” 

She tried so hard to hide the choked up nature of her voice, but Bruce undoubtedly heard it and knew that the best he could do was leave. So he left without another word, and Natasha went to get Lucky out of the room she locked him in last night. The dog rushed out of the room and to his water dish, and instantly Natasha felt bad for dismissing Clint’s dog so easily. Cleaning his water and refilling his food dish, Natasha gently pet the dog on the head before trying to make tea for herself. 

However, it was then that her cellphone rang. Running to the phone she answered to the questioning of some unknown official from SHIELD HQ. 

“Is this Natalia Barton?” 

Inhaling slowly, Natasha sat down on the barstool by the counter and spoke as calmly as she could, “Yes.” 

She had forgotten that she had put her real name on Clint’s files, as a backup incase something were to happen to her or Clint. Natalia was her birth name, and she technically decided to take Clint’s last name when they married. However to the public and everyone outside of Fury, the team, and this SHIELD associate she was now talking to, she was Natasha Romanoff. 

The SHIELD associate went on to talk for an excessive amount of time about SHIELD protocol and how Natasha was put down for Clint’s contact. Natasha sat on the barstool, as her mind began to wander from everything the young worker was saying. As the worker went on the explain that since Clint was killed in action it was up to Natasha to decide what happened to all of his files and intel, Natasha realized it was going to be a very long time till she would not have to face reminders of everything that happened. 

Rubbing her face with her hands, Natasha was silent for a moment before saying indifferently, 

“Transfer a copy of everything to a disk and give it to Fury. After that you can deactivate all his records.” 

After fifteen more minutes of talking back and forth on regards to protocol, the worker finally said, 

“Alright Mrs. Barton, thank you for your cooperation. Please note since you are Agent Barton’s contact you will have to come in to talk to Director Fury on regards of his will.”

Natasha wanted to audibly groan at this point, but she bit her lip and simply agreed to do so. As the worker thanked her for her patience and was about to give her condolences, Natasha hung up.

By the time the call finished her tea was cold, and so she poured it down the drain and placed her cup back up in the cabinet. She sadly smiled as she saw Clint’s rather impressive collection of coffee cups. His extreme reliance on the caffeinated drink in the morning had become a running joke between the two. Whenever the two went on missions, if the mission was completed without one of them being rushed to the hospital, Clint would insist on buying a mug before they went home. Eventually Natasha got into the habit of doing this as well, because whenever she went on a solo mission, she would usually bring back a cheesy souvenir mug for him. The mugs often served as reminders of the crazy stories that came with almost all their missions. 

Taking the mug they had gotten in Oregon, she exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself as she started over in making tea for herself. She often would find herself doing this as of lately, repeated things she already did, or tried to do. As she sat at the counter, hands wrapped around the warm glass of the cup, and she closed her eyes, trying to find comfort in the warmth of the steam that rose from the cup. For a moment she found relaxation, and then there was yet another knock on the door.

Lucky's ears perked as the dog leapt off the couch, tail wagging and eye filled with bliss. Natasha hung her head low at the sight of the joyful dog, before sliding of the barstool. Her bare feet touched the ice cold floor as she made her way to the door, and grabbed Lucky's collar to move him so she could unlock the door. 

Opening it she honestly wasn't surprised to see Steve standing there, because she figured he was bound to come and check on her. Steve, like Natasha, wore all black. He had the same sad weariness in his eyes as she did, and he was very unkempt, which was uncommon for him. His blonde hair was messy and he appeared to not have bothered shaving. 

"Hey Natasha, can...I come in?" 

She couldn't refuse him, but as he walked in she saw he turned around to grab a rather large black storage trunk. Natasha suddenly regretted opening the door. 

He calmly closed the door behind himself, setting the large trunk beside the smaller cardboard ones. There was a look of guilt as Steve knew the last thing Natasha wanted was more of Clint's belongings. 

“Fury wanted me to bring all of this to you. It's mostly his gear and weapons that were left in lockers and on quinjets. If we find anything else we'll bring it to you."

Natasha wanted to tell Steve that they could keep anything else. She didn't want any of it. But instead she just stood there silently, tired eyes waiting for him to continue.

Steve noticed the ring and folded flag on the kitchen counter, the car keys on the floor, the unboxed cardboard boxes by her door, and realized she wasn't ready for any of this. 

"Natasha do you...need help, you know, with all of this?" 

She shook her head sharply, emerald eyes avoided his comforting blue ones as she looked away from him. He could have helped by not coming. 

"You wanted this?" Steve said as he pulled out a flash drive, the copy of Clint's files. 

She nodded wearily and took the small disk, and placed it on the counter by his ring. 

The very way Natasha moved lacked coordination and energy, as if she was just walking around aimlessly, mind lost somewhere else. Of course to the normal person she would seem fine, but to someone who knew her well, like Steve, she appeared very tired and lost. 

Lucky was sniffing the boxes around the door, obviously smelling Clint. Natasha wished the dog would forget who Clint was, so she didn't have to see his false hope that he would return. Steve cleared his throat to get Natasha's attention as he reluctantly placed a sealed folder in her hands. The papers were heavy in her palms and she didn't want to open it. 

Tearing it open and pulling out the crisp straight papers, the edges of the papers were so sharp Natasha felt as if they were cutting her. She was holding in her hand Clint's death certificate. 

Steve began to talk about information Fury told him to relay, as well as something about having her over for dinner, and a number of other things Natasha didn't care enough to listen to, so she continued to read. Her green eyes became hard and emotionless with every word she read.

"And I just need you to sign it," Steve said as he handed her a pen from his pocket. 

Natasha looked at the black pen, to the papers, and then to Steve again. She took the pen from him without a word, as she quietly placed the documents on the counter. She was calm, but in an unsettling way. Steve didn't feel comfortable standing there beside her.

When she raised the pen up to sign she paused, her mouth parted as she exhaled slowly and lowered the pen without signing. Steve noticed this, and took it as she was physically tired. 

"Promise me you'll try to get some sleep tonight?" Steve asked, his voice soft and filled with concern. 

She looked down as she spoke in an empty voice, 

"I can only try."

Steve detected the sharp bite to her speech, and was reluctant to respond. But before he could she said quietly yet in an emotionlessly desperate tone, 

"I just want to be left alone." 

"I know Natasha, but we have to do these things." 

Natasha looked away from him. Steve wanted so desperately to help, to say the right thing, but he had never seen Natasha act so reserved and distant. He was scared to try and extend his help, but he knew he had to try. 

"You don't have to do this alone," He pleaded. 

"I need to be alone, to grieve by myself." 

She didn't raise her voice, but the impassive edge to her voice was enough to shut Steve up. There was a long silence between the two, before Steve attempted to apologize, 

"Nat, I'm so-"

"Just leave, Steve."

Her voice was deathly quiet yet sharp. She jerked her head to look at him, green eyes dull and cold. Empty of all emotion. He didn't say another word, but just nodded to her. She pretended to ignore his gesture, as he stepped out of the door and closed it softly behind him. 

Natasha fed the dog, cleaned her mug, and found herself sitting on the couch once again. Staring blankly at the black TV in front of her, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment of silence. But the peacefulness that came with deafening silence was short lived. 

Despite what she said to Steve, she really didn't want to be alone. But at the same time she didn't want to be around anyone, or talk to anyone. She didn't know what she wanted. 

But now that she was alone, how was she supposed to function? The silence was a reminder in itself of all she had lost. She wasn't used to the apartment being this quiet. Usually the silence would be interrupted by Clint rummaging through things, doing house work, or talking to himself or her. Now, besides the occasional clink of Lucky's nails against the hard floors, there was no sound to be heard in the apartment. 

Natasha reached for the TV remote. Her and Clint's favorite way to calm down after particularly long days at work, was to come home and watch TV together. 

They enjoyed a number of shows, such as CSI, House of Cards, and Sherlock. All political, crime, or mystery shows. Even before they were married, they bonded over the intense conspiracy theories of the shows. Natasha would usually be right in her predictions, but she enjoyed hearing Clint's ridiculously crazy speculations. 

However individually they also had their own shows they preferred. Clint loved The Walking Dead, because of it's intense action and he adored the character Daryl Dixon. It wasn't Natasha's favorite show, but on Sunday nights when there was nothing better to on, she would watch it with Clint. 

Natasha scrolled through the DVR, looking one for a show to distract her from everything. But when at the top of the list she saw the latest episode of The Walking Dead that had recorded, still unwatched, she turned off the TV. 

It was three o'clock in the morning, and Natasha still sat there. She had attempted to sleep, but when she began to drift in and out of nightmares she knew it wasn't worth it to try. She physically felt exhausted, but she also couldn't quiet her mind. Lucky laid by her feet, also not asleep, because the dog could sense how upset she was. 

Her vision was blurred as the world around her grew hazy. It had gotten to the point that she was experiencing traumatic memories when she was wide awake. She heard gunshots that weren't there, which made her thin form flinch. She felt blood on her hands, even though they were completely dry. Pain swelled from the stab wound in her hand that was still wrapped. 

She ran her hands through her dark red hair, and then over her pale face. She could barely feel her own touch, and she soon realized every attempt she made to find relief had failed. She felt worse than she had when she woke up that morning. 

As a last resort, she stood up and wearily walked over to the kitchen. The shot glass she pulled out of the cabinet felt like it was made out of ice. It took an immense amount of energy for her to lift the glass. 

She pulled out the hardest liquor she could find from her cupboards. Her back hurt as she kneeled to pull a half empty bottle of liquor out, as if her own body was telling her not to go through with this. The clang of the shot glass being placed on the granite counters echoed loudly through the empty apartment, as Natasha poured a glass. 

An hour later, Natasha had forgotten how many shots she had taken. The bottle was almost empty, and she sat hunched over on the barstool. Her forearms rested on the counter, as her lost eyes looked at the now blurry kitchen ahead of her. Her hands shook as she grasped the small glass, and there was a steady sound of light clicks from the glass scraping on the counter. 

Her breathing was labored, and there were now dark circles under her eyes. Her pale complexion made the circles look like she had a black eye. It was four o'clock in the morning, and Natasha struggled to keep from collapsing off of the barstool. 

She couldn't concentrate enough to think about her own feelings, or worry about how she was going to go on with her life now. But despite how much she drank, she couldn't stop thinking about Clint. 

She placed her hand on the counter as she attempted to stand up. But just as she was about to step off the barstool, her thin form shook and while gripping the counter desperately, she practically collapsed. Pain rushed from her abdomen, as she staggered to the bathroom. 

Both the amount of alcohol she consumed and the emotional stress which was slowly taking it's toll on her body, was making her sick. She fell hard on the white tiled flooring, her knees scraped as she did. She didn't make it to the toilet before she vomited on the floor. 

One of her shaking hands held back her red hair, as she continued for throw up. She closed her eyes, and held herself up with one hand. After a few seconds she just kneeled there, head low and her chapped lips were still parted and trembling. Grabbing for a towel, she attempted to wipe up the floor. 

A wave of absolute physical weakness fell over her. She felt as if she couldn't even hold her hair back, let alone stand up off the ground. She felt as if her throat was on fire, and her head was crushed in on itself. 

Yet through all of this, she never stopped thinking about Clint. She pulled herself off the floor and looked into the mirror, and despite being drunk and her vision blurry, she was disturbed at what she saw. 

Natasha was no stranger at seeing herself bloodied and bruised. She was normally not bothered by the sight of her own weakness. But her reflection hardly looked like herself. Maybe it was her delusive state, but her eyes which looked back at her had lost their usual green hue. Her pupils were dark and dull. Her fair skin was not a delicate porcelain color, but almost grey, and purple under her eyes. Her hair was disheveled and lost its bright red highlights, and her arms shook violently as she attempted to hold herself up. 

Looking away, Natasha closed her eyes and simply stood there for a moment before turning on the sink. Cupping the crisp clear water in her small shaking hands, she gently washed off her cheeks and face. The cold water almost jerked her awake, and as she looked up again her unpleasant physical features were even more clear. Her dark eyes reflected sadness as she realized, Clint would never have wanted to see her like this. He would have never let her get to this point. 

Looking down as if in shame, she spoke hoarsely, 

"I'm sorry." 

After gaining her balance, she walked past the couch, dog, and boxes, to her room. Opening the door, the room was cold but almost in a clean and relieving way. Even with the light off, Natasha could tell the bedroom was just like it was before her and Clint left.

She didn't bother turning on the light as she staggered into her side of the large grey bed.

To her surprise the bed was made. Natasha always requested that Clint make the bed if he's the last one up, but he rarely did. However this time he did. 

She coughed hoarsely as she pulled the blanket out on her side, and for a moment she just sat there. Many thoughts threatened to rage through her head, but the only conclusion she could come to, was that felt like she was going to pass out. 

Lying down she felt her form comfortably sink into the mattress. The familiar feeling of the bed relaxed her, and she laid her head on her soft pillow. Despite the fact that empty space beside her was painful to think about, she soon fell asleep soundly. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, her pure exhaustion, or the fact that she was resting in a comforting place, but she slept without nightmares that night.


	8. Blackbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled after the song Blackbird - by the Beatles
> 
> Author's Note:Possible triggers in this chapter: brief mention of self harm and alcoholism. I will be going back and adding triggers to some of my older chapters, because going back and reading them I've noticed some can definitely use a warning considering the darker nature of this plot. I hope everyone has been able to see Civil War, and enjoyed the movie. I know I did. It is probably my favorite movie in the MCU to date, at least that's my opinion as of now. The reason this chapter took forever is because I was planning for this chapter and the next to be one big chapter. However, after going back and looking at it, I believe they will be more effective as separate chapters. This chapter is mostly a flashback, and those who have read my oneshot Your Song, will have already read this flashback. However, it's this flashback and kind of causes Natasha to act in a way for the next chapter to happen. The next chapter is what I'm really looking forward to releasing, because there's some interesting dynamics between Tony and Steve, that I really enjoyed writing. The next chapter will be up next weekend, so there really won't be much of a wait because it's almost all written. I thank you all for your patience and hope you enjoy.

Natasha woke up particularly late that morning, her head still pounding from getting sick on the amount of alcohol she consumed, but her body surprisingly felt slightly less tired than it had in days. Sunlight peeked through the small cracks in her blinds, as she sat herself up. Even in the mostly dark room, she could see that the side of the bed next to her was still made, because she stuck to sleeping only on her side of the bed. She wasn't used to there being a vacant space next to her, and she wasn't sure how long it would take her to realize no one slept beside her anymore.

She actually appreciated the cool temperature of the apartment, as she made her way out of bed and into the kitchen, pulling out a mug to make tea. Opening one curtain to let some light into the small apartment, she noticed Lucky laying on the floor by the front door. Biting her lip, she managed to locate the dog food, and she gently placed a tin bowl of water and food by where the golden dog laid.

"Eat up now Luck, can't have you starving yourself," she said under her breath, as she returned to the kitchen. Though ironically, she hadn't eaten anything in the past two days she had been home.

Empty glasses and bottles from the night before still covered the counter, which suddenly made Natasha feel a wave of nausea. Sliding all of it into the garbage, she grasped her mug of tea, and took small sips as she watched Lucky fail to be interested in his food. For once she felt some understanding in the dog's emotions.

Natasha realized that looking at the boxes and trunks of Clint's belongings, were not going to make her feel any better. So while she didn't want to, she forced herself to sit down and unpack everything. She ran her fingers over his last name, Barton, which was engraved in silver on his large black SHIELD trunk. She had one just like this, only it remained on the one remaining SHIELD helicarrier that Fury had, and practically used as a SHIELD base. Opening it, she found mostly what she had expected: several of Clint's combat uniforms, four different bows, several cases of assorted arrows, a variety of other small hand weapons, his technology, and other small items essential to his line of work. The hardest thing for Natasha was probably the fact that in the trunk was his combat suit he wore on his last mission. It was washed clean of blood for the most part, and where bullet holes had ripped the leather, there were stitches. But that didn't make Natasha feel any better as she held the suit.

By the time she emptied it all, she was overwhelmed with what to do with everything. She eventually put everything back into the black trunk, and would store it away in the room that was technically his bedroom before he and Natasha started dating and sharing a room. However she kept his SHIELD badge, his first model of bow he used during his work in SHEILD, the bow he used on the mission he met her, and the various pictures he kept in his SHEILD locker or even uniforms, and put them in the dark wood chest at the end of her bed.

The lid of the trunk felt heavier than it ever had as she lifted it. Maybe it was because of her injured hand, or maybe it was just the weight of everything catching up to Natasha. Natasha kneeled on the soft carpet as she tried to make room for some of Clint's more important possessions in her chest. This was the same chest that stored her KGB files, her Red Room files. However it also held objects that carried more meaningful significance in her life as an Avenger, and wife to Clint.

Just as she thought she found room to place the folded American flag, given to her at Clint's funeral, she caught glimpse of the an effervescent material of an ivory dress, and instantly her thoughts began to wander back to the last time she wore that dress. Back to memories that were painful to think about, but she longed to hold onto them in great detail, hoping to never forget one part of them. After all, with Clint gone, all she had were memories. And so her thoughts traveled back to a summer night almost three years ago...

-

_Inhaling and exhaling sharply the archer continued to mess with his black tie, which still wasn't straight enough for his standards. As he grew at least somewhat satisfied with his tie, the rush of the wind made him begin to worry about his hair. Steve could see the apparent worry in Clint's grey blue eyes, but only smiled to himself, finding it amusing this was the most nervous he had ever seen the usually rather calm archer._

_Standing firmly under the dark wood gazebo, which was decorated in simple lights which would come on when the sun set, and a few vines, Clint looked around the ledge they stood upon. It was a rather beautiful location, as it was rocky cliff off the Oregon shore that overlooked the grand Pacific Ocean. However a small pathway lead to a small beach, with warm white sands and clear blue shallow waters. Thankfully the summers in Oregon were very mild, but the waters were still warm, even after the sun set._

_Despite the fact that the atmosphere could not be more perfect, Clint continued to hold an anxious look about him. It was as he began to adjust his dark grey suit cuffs that Nick Fury rolled his one eye and laughed gruffly, saying_

_"Barton you need to relax."_

_Acting as if he didn't even hear the Director, Clint proceeded to go back to fixing his black tie. Steve could see right through Clint's flustered look, and knew the archer naturally wanted everything to be perfect tonight._

_Stepping forward as he continued to hold Lucky's leash, Steve quickly pushed Clint's hands away from the tie, and with one swift movement adjusted it to be completely straight. Clint looked down at the Captain's good work and nodded quickly, however there was still an uneasy look in his eyes. Steve smiled and shook his head as he grabbed Clint's shoulder and looked his teammate in the eye,_

_"Clint, it's gonna be okay, you look great."_

_Nodding quickly again, he repositioned himself once again and decided to try and force himself to relax. Folding his hands together calmly, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. Breathing in the crisp air of the Pacific, he focused on the soft rolling wash of the waves below. The sun was setting and Clint could feel the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck as he stood there calmly._

_Once his thoughts were at ease, Clint slowly opened his eyes and raised his head. His gaze followed the light of the sun, to the end of the path that lead to the gazebo, where dressed all in white, stood his beloved wife to be._

_It was in that moment that every feeling of anxiety and worry, seemingly vanished from Clint's thoughts. Natasha radiated off the golden light of the sun, which made her white dress appear almost ethereal. Her short dark scarlet hair, which was only slightly curled and halfway pulled away from her face, was highlighted by the warm light of the sun. Her facial expressions where both shadowed and brightened by the natural lighting, as she looked down at the simple bouquet she held, and then right up towards her fiancé._

_Clint thought his heart would be racing by now, but surprisingly he couldn't remember a time he had been more at peace than now. He stood confidently and proud at the end of the aisle, his grey blue eyes affectionate and softened as he watched Natasha._

_She took careful steps down the pebbled pathway, and it was at first that she actually looked downward, in a very humbled gesture. Her dress was very simple, and the ivory fabric of the end of her dress and her vail naturally swayed in the costal breeze. After a few steps forward, the bride looked up endearingly to where Clint stood._

_Steve stood at one side of the aisle, his own appearance just as dashing as the bride and groom's, as he nodded and gave a reassuringly kind smile to the bride as she walked by. Nick stood on the other side, and even his one eye shone passionately, as he smiled genuinely._

_Stepping beneath the gazebo's vines and structure, Natasha took her place beside Clint. She gently pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face, as her emerald eyes met his. Clint gave her a very gentle smile, his eyes shining in endearment as he took her hand. She looked up at him, her bright red lips expressing a tender smile as she let her thin hand fall into his own. With their focus purely on one another, the priest began as the sun grew lower._

_"Do you, Clinton Francis Barton take this woman, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day fourth, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"_

_Clint responded instantly, his confident yet gentle voice resonating as he said, "I do."_

_"And do you, Natalia Alianovna Romanova take this man, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day fourth, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"_

_Radiant eyes met Clint's as Natasha's soft voice spoke with undoubting love, "I do."_

_Steve then stepped forward, taking out the small ebony box from his coat jacket and handing it to Clint. As he did Lucky almost ran right up to the two, if Steve hadn't caught his leash at the last second and pulled the dog back. Clint was glad to see Natasha laugh lightly at the dog, seeing as he had to beg her to let him come._

_Holding the box steady for a moment, Clint looked at Natasha, eye's somehow asking her if she was ready. She smiled as she gave the smallest of nods, one only the highly trained assassin could detect as he opened the box and very gingerly took her hand. Slipping the silver band over her thin ring finger, Natasha then held his hand reassuringly as she reached for his ring, and put it on his finger. The two continued to hold each other's hands. Their devoted gaze didn't break but their smiles grew as the priest finished,_

_"By the power vested in me by the organization of SHIELD and the United States of America, I pronounce you husband and wife."_

_Natasha found herself leaning into Clint as he wrapped his arm around her waist, and with closed eyes their lips met. She let her arms wrap around his neck, as the warmth of the sun enveloped the two as they kissed. After what seemed like both an eternity and not enough time to seal the bond of their marriage, they pulled back, yet eyes still reflecting into each others gazes._

_The small crowd clapped as they walked down the aisle to meet those who were here to celebrate this day with them. Nick firmly shook Clint's hand, nodding as if in approval, because he was proud in how his agents had turned out. Natasha threw her arms over Steve's neck, as she embraced him as if he were her brother. Clint knelt down to pet and receive a lick on the face from his young one eyed dog, Lucky, and even Natasha loved on the dog._

_As Clint went over to thank the priest, Natasha greeted one of her and Clint's friends, who was kind enough to both play a song for them to dance to, and to take a few pictures._

_The sun was almost set as the lights on the gazebo illuminated, offering a sweet ambiance of warm light to the setting as food was brought out. The reception was very simple, as Clint and Natasha had only wanted a few select individuals to attend their wedding. Not only were they not ready to announce their marriage to the public, but also to the whole team._

_One wood table held a silver platter of chocolate covered strawberries, chocolate mousse, and trubochki, which was a cream filled pastry, a Russian dessert Natasha had requested. The other table had delicate glasses of sparkling champagne. Everyone helped theirselves to the food and drinks as the reception began. Since there were only five people there now, they all gathered around the tables to celebrate._

_Steve embraced Clint around his shoulder as he congratulated him, and Natasha offered Nick a drink. If it wasn't their wedding Natasha would have tried to keep Clint from eating so much, but instead she simply smiled and said as she leaned up against one of the tables,_

_"So you like the trubochki after all?"_

_"You weren't kidding, these things are amazing."_

_"I'm glad you like them." She said as she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and grabbing a chocolate mousse, the dessert Clint had requested, and began to eat the rich treat with a spoon._

_The sun set completely and the only light was that of the string of lights around the gazebo. The night sky was a deep purple but the light under the gazebo was showered with a soft purple and warm golden light. Clint grasped one of the glasses, as he gave one to Natasha and then picked one up for himself._

_Steve raised his glass and quickly said, his blue eyes shining brightly as he did so,_

_"To the best and only couple on the team, you two deserve only the best. May tonight only be the start of your long and fulfilled life together."_

_As Steve spoke Natasha looked up Clint, her eyes glistened with a soft expression from the lights around her. Her smile was small, but to Clint her small yet always endearing smile was one of Natasha's simple expressions of devoted love. His own face relaxed and he returned a loving smile to her as he raised his own glass to clink against hers. Everyone clapped and Clint leaned down and placed another kiss on her lips._

_The tables were cleared away and Clint lead Natasha to the center of the gazebo. Her slim white dress flowed behind her swiftly, as she slowly followed behind Clint, eyes reflecting that of excitement and passion. The two patiently waited under the light of the gazebo, as they were now truly the center of attention. The sky around them was jet black, and the only light besides that of the bright full moon and stars, was the golden hovering glow over the two newlyweds. Contrasted with the darkness around them, the physical features of the two were softened, their smiles warmer, and their eyes beautifully expressive._

_As they waited for a moment, the young brunette who had taken several pictures throughout the night put away her camera and got out her violin. Tuning the instrument quickly, a hush fell over the incredibly small crowd as the violinist's bow touched the string, and the resonate sound of the instrument rang out. She began to play the instrumental version of Elton John's, Your Song._

_The melody was a slow yet very full, and as the notes seemed to roll seamlessly off the instrument, Clint gently placed his hand on her waist. She laid her thin hand in his palm, and as he took his first step to sway with the music his hand wrapped around hers. Even with heels Natasha was slightly shorter than Clint, but Clint's head never stopped looking down, and Natasha's never stopped looking up._

_All eyes were on the couple as the song continue, and they moved rhythmically with the sweet melody. Clint swayed gently, his movements so affectionate one could never guess he was one of the world's most lethal assassins. Natasha danced both elegantly and naturally, not even having to try to swiftly move to the violin's sound. Despite her past, Natasha loved to dance, and Clint loved to dance with her. Her rough demeanor melted and her soft sways and precise turns, all done with a natural comfort in her eyes and a blissful smile on her face, expressed a very human side of her. She definitely didn't look like an assassin._

_Even if Clint wasn't the best dancer in the world, he didn't feel intimidated by Natasha. Instead he let her guide his next step, and her calm gaze and sweet smile in turn made his movements relaxed and loose. With her hand in his, he suddenly found that dancing came naturally as well._

_Steve and Nick stood off to the side, half light and smiling almost proudly at the couple. Nick wouldn't show the emotions, but he was truly happy for the two. Looking back on where they started and then now as they danced in each other's arms, he felt accomplished. That somehow they had found a better life through each other. Steve's eyes were light as he watched calmly, his hand still on the leash of the one eyed young dog, who suddenly tried to leap out into the dance floor._

_Clint was facing Steve when this happened, and he let out a quick and sharp laugh at Lucky's attempts to run out towards them. Natasha smiled, she loved how easily Clint was amused by rather simple things. As they continued the sea breeze blew over the two, and Natasha's ivory dress gracefully trailed every step she made. A strand of red hair, which now looked almost brown in the dimmed amber lights, was blown loose and into her face. Clint let go of her hand for just a moment, to quickly push her lightly curled hair out of her green eyes and behind her ear._

_As the music crescendoed and the roar of the ocean grew rhythmic, Clint followed Natasha to move to a quicker beat. There was not a fault in their step as they moved practically in sync, to both the music and each other. Clint's eyes shone as he met hers, and then raised his hand above her head._

_She twirled under his arm, allowing her thin arm to reach out gracefully. Her veil and dress spun around her, and she smiled lovingly, looking at Clint as she spun._

_He spun her back into his arms, as the music slowed she leaned into his hold. He swayed so softly that she was able to lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes she trusted him to guide her movements. He smiled down at her, as he subconsciously began to hum the tune of the Elton John song. Natasha smiled as she heard his humming, it was so soft only she could possibly be able to hear it. On the last line of the song, Natasha lifted her head, gazed right into Clint's eyes and sang in a resonate and smooth tune,_

_"How wonderful life is, while you're in the world."_

_The golden embers of the hand made fire on the sand was enough light for Clint to unbutton his charcoal grey suit, loosen his black tie, roll up the sleeves of his shirt, and kick off his shoes and socks. Next to Clint's pile of thrown clothes, Natasha neatly placed the veil she removed from her hair, her bouquet of white flowers, and heels. Clint sat in the sand by the fire, hands stretched back to support his weight as he closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp scent of the dark ocean which reflected the starry night sky._

_Clint's once neatly combed brownish blonde hair had become disheveled by the swift ocean winds. His white shirt was no longer perfectly ironed, and his black tie hung lazily around his neck. Natasha walked over to him and extended her thin hand to him, to pull him up._

_She pulled him up, and for a moment they just looked at each other. She gave him a delighted half smile as ran her hands through his messy hair, smirking as she messed it up even more. He laughed a little, as he watched her step back and take out the clip in her own hair. He couldn't help but smile genuinely as her dark red hair, which appeared a beautiful red-brown in the dark, fell just a little bit past her shoulder length. Her soft curls blew back with the ocean breeze as he took her hand._

_They walked in between the light of the full moon above and the glow of the fire. After everyone retreated home Clint had lead her down here, hoping they could take just a few moments together down on the sandy little beach beneath the rocky cliff that they were wed on._

_As they walked barefoot on the soft and warm sand, he looked towards her his grey blue eyes reflecting the pale moon's light as he asked with a light laugh,_

_"You think Steve will be able to handle Lucky for the night?"_

_"I don't know, that dog of yours is quite a riot."_

_Clint let out a short sharp laugh, nodding as he said,_

_"He's just a pup, how much harm could he cause?"_

_She didn't answer but just laughed through a smile at the thought of Steve struggling to figure out how to take care of a dog._

_Clint started talking about a variety of new arrows he was going to design as the two walked closer to the water. Clint was more of the creative thinker, and Natasha the logical one. As Clint explained his ideas she threw out suggestions on the engineering and mechanics of the weapons. The two bounced ideas off one another and after they finished their in depth discussion Clint said jokingly,_

_"You know you could give Tony a run for his money."_

_She shrugged and said,_

_"Oh please, my life revolves around more than making myself toys."_

_Clint laughed sharply, and she did as well. Clint's laugh was short, staccato, and very distinctive. Where as Natasha's was more legato and soft. They lived with rather serious jobs, so while they never admitted it to each other, they adored the sound of each other's laughs._

_As they wandered close to the water's edge, Natasha asked suddenly,_

_"You locked the door right?"_

_Clint looked at her trying to see if she was serious or not, before he gave her a small smile and said with a shrug,_

_"Probably not, but there's nothing we can do about that now."_

_Shaking her head she reached down and caught a little sea water in her hand, and flicked it up at him. He threw his hands up in defense, before following along with her almost childish actions._

_The North Pacific waters were warm on their feet as they finished fooling around. Despite the fact that they were lethal assassins, the two were still young lovers. In private they acted as lively and carefree as any other couple. While chasing Natasha through the shallow shoreline, Clint tripped over his own feet. She laughed as she helped him up, though the bottom half of his pants were now soaked._

_"You're a mess."_

_She said as she gently touched his cheek, and he raised his hand to hold hers. She leaned into him, and for a moment the two just stood there in each other's arms. The gentle waves lapped at their ankles, and the warm comforting breeze blew over the two._

_As they retreated to the bonfire on the sand hand in hand, Clint looked around at the great pine forests that lied beyond the rocky cliffs above them. Natasha loved Clint's sense of adventure, even when they were on very important missions, she would always catch him impressed by the scenery._

_Earlier he had tried to convince Natasha to have their honeymoon in Australia. Mostly because it was his goal to visit all of the continents, besides Antarctic, and Australia was the only one he had not gone to yet. She reminded him that they couldn't take that much time off work, and also that they couldn't afford a trip that expensive. He proceeded to promise her that he'd take her to Australia someday._

_Gripping his hand warmly, she looked up to him. He broke his gaze from the awes of the environment as he said with an enthusiastic smile,_

_"We'll have to make sure to get an Oregon mug before we leave."_

_"Clint, we do not need an Oregon mug."_

_"Of course we do, this is our most memorable mission yet."_

_He said the word "mission" sarcastically. They had told everyone but Fury and Steve that they were going on a mission._

_She couldn't argue with that, and before they left Oregon she surprised him with one._

_They both sat down by the fire, as they looked out at the white waves break the surface of the sand. The breeze of the ocean was growing chillier, but the warmth of the fire made the atmosphere serene._

_Natasha sat with her knees tucked up, her emerald eyes soft as she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so at peace. Clint's arms were stretched behind him and his legs extended out on the sand. It was in that moment of calming silence that Clint began to sing softly,_

_"Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly..."_

_He continued singing the iconic Beatles song, his voice soft but Natasha could also tell he was trying to show off a little because he tried to sing out. But after the first two verses she began to harmonize with him, her voice smooth and rolling, and slightly quieter than his. His voice grew more natural as he sang along with her, smiling as he looked from the ocean which reflected the sky above, to her relaxed lips singing the sweet lyrics._

_She finished the song as Clint closed his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder. Natasha smiled and rubbed his back, and gingerly kissed the top of his head._

_Natasha sang almost to herself, a traditional Russian folk lullaby. It was one of the only things she could remember from her childhood before the Red Room. Her father would sing it to her mother. She sang even more resonantly in her native language, as her voice naturally vocalized the song._

_Clint fell asleep to her melodic voice, and she ran her hand through his hair after she finished. Smiling as her husband sat fast asleep, leaning against her shoulder, she closed her own eyes and took in the moment._

_After the ocean breeze grew strong enough to blow out their fire, Natasha woke up Clint. Putting on their shoes they walked up the rocky path. Clint rolled down his sleeves as the night grew cold, and he put his grey jacket over Natasha's shoulders. Even though the cold didn't bother her because she had grown up in the north, she took his jacket graciously._

_They got back to their hotel very late that night, and began to get ready for bed. After Natasha had changed into her sleep wear, which consisted of a black tank top and loose black sweat pants, she found Clint asleep on the bed. Laughing a little at how ridiculous he looked, she carefully took his tie off and placed it on the door knob. Pulling the blanket over both of them, she laid into his chest. He was awake enough to put a comforting arm over her, and in each other's arms they fell asleep peacefully._

_-_

Her green eyes looked down at the white dress that was in her hands as she remembered the night three years ago, as if it were yesterday. While the thoughts of her wedding would always be one of her fondest memories, right now it was one of the most painful. She fondly folded her dress, and placed it gently back into the chest. Putting the folded flag over her dress, she shut the chest carefully. Even after she shut the trunk, her mind continued to wander back to that night.

Their lives as Assassins, Agents, and Avengers were never easy, but somehow, her and Clint had found some moments to actually live a life together. Even if it was short lived, their time together was something no one could take away from Natasha.

She didn't regret anything, despite how their marriage ended, because even if it was short, her and Clint had a good run together. He lived his life to the fullest; he lived boldly, and loved deeply. And Natasha was determined to remember him for that, if nothing else. To remember him as the man who gave her a shot at a life worth living, who gave her something to live for.

And just like they had vowed to each other on that cliff of the Oregon shore, they were fiercely loyal to one another, and their love for each other did not waver until _death did them part_.

But yet, she also knew that her love would never really waver. Even if all she had to love was Clint's memory, she owed him that much. Even if she didn't have a debt to him, her love for him would never cease, even if she wanted it to. And that's what made every reminder that he was gone, unbearable.

She didn't realize till then that in her hand she grasped the chain that had on it Clint's wedding ring. She remembered sliding the same ring onto his finger three years ago, and he had never taken it off, not until it was removed off his hand right before he was buried. She closed her thin fingers around the ring and grasped it so hard she felt as if it were digging into her palm, but it's touch was cool and smooth against her skin. Lowering her head to touch the hand that held the ring, she stayed like that for an unaccountable amount of time.

She didn't have the strength to stand up, because she didn't know what to do next. And she had no one but the silence of the apartment to ask. Nothing to comfort her besides a depressed dog, and a cold silver ring. But it was as she was deep in thought, that she gripped the ring so hard that it's edge cut into her hand. Scarlet blood ran swiftly from the small circular cut, and made her palm become slick with blood, staining the clear silver ring red. Some blood dripped onto the cream colored carpet, and some ran down Natasha's arm and stained her clothes.

Natasha realized in that moment as she held the bloody ring, that Clint would never have wanted to see her like this. He would have never wanted to see his wife become an insomniac, alcoholic, and now someone who inflicts self harm upon herself. He would give anything to keep her safe, and now she was anything but.

Oddly, this thought gave her some form of strength, as she stood up and walked into the bathroom. Washing the blood off her hand, she managed to find some gauze to wrap her cut hand. She never really felt physical pain with the cut, but just a tight sad realization of how far she was slipping, emotionally. Cleaning the blood off the ring, she proceeded to put the chain with the ring around her neck, but tucked it underneath her shirt so to keep it out of sight, and close to her chest.

Sitting at the edge of her bed, Natasha began to decide that, if Clint were here to tell her what he wanted, he would say that he wouldn't want her to be alone. He would want her to be safe, and to try to find a way to move on. She knew this, but somehow it seemed like such an impossible request, because to her, her struggle was so personal. Yet, she found the strength and will to pick up the phone.

Natasha exhaled slowly as she realized she did need more than Clint's memory and ring, to help her. And so as the phone rang, she prepared to confess her need for help and accompaniment. She had always been trained to repress her emotions, to hide them from anyone, because they could only be used to hurt her. However the one man who taught her otherwise, was now buried six feet in the ground several miles away. But she patiently held the phone to her ear as it rang, and even if her hand shook in fear, she was ready to find help. But while seeking help from her friends would indeed help her in the long run, she sought them not for herself. But because apart of her believed Clint would rest easier knowing she wasn't alone.

_To Be Continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I wrote the to be continued part because what happens in the next chapter will directly follow Natasha's phone call. While this chapter is essential to the story line, I feel it's nothing too special. However I hoped you enjoyed it nonetheless. The next chapter will be taking a lot of interesting looks at characters outside Natasha, and some of the interactions and even character motives are slightly influenced by Civil War. I look forward to publishing the next chapter in a week from now. Please do let me know how you are enjoying this, if you are enjoying it. Thank you as always to everyone who has read thus far.


	9. Life After You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled after the song by Daughtry. This chapter is a direct continuation of the last one, and if you remember the last chapter well enough, you'll see that. I really wanted to write this chapter, especially the first part of it. It was very hard to get some of the characterization right, but I hope after two weeks of editing, and having this beta'd, that I did justice to all of these characters. The next chapter, will take place in the same day this chapter (and the last) have taken place in. I was originally going to have all three of these be one big chapter, but I'm glad I decided to spread it out because now I can add smaller more intimate scenes that may not be possible if I crammed this all into one. That being said, enjoy, and expect the next chapter to be up in a week or two.

 

It was just a few minutes after 5:30 am, and the sun had not yet risen above New York's skyline. Instead the sky was a gradient of purple, as the light approached this side of the globe. Despite it being in the middle of June, the morning air was crisp and cool. The atmosphere of it all was seemingly peaceful, that is if Steve Rogers wasn't retreating to the secluded rooftop of the Stark Tower to escape his own burdening thoughts. 

  
The super-soldier's golden hair was a disheveled mess due to his restless lack of sleep over the past week. In this private moment, the stoic nature of Captain America was gone, but instead replaced by a very fragile and perturbed man. His usual broad shoulders were slumped loosely, and his confident brilliant blue eyes were dulled as he gazed downward. He hadn't felt this deprived, physically, since he had watched his best friend fall off a train and into a mountain ravine.    
  
Looking out at the dark yet also illuminated cityscape below, he couldn't help but remember. He remembered the first time they had all come together to defend this very city more than six years ago. A lot had changed since then, but the city remained, rebuilt from the destruction. Stronger than before.    
  
As Steve sat on a box like structure that he was pretty sure somehow stored an air condition unit, he looked down at the city. The morning breeze that made his messy blonde hair move gently, brought a sense of peace to the soldier, even if that serenity was minimal.    
  
He couldn't stop thinking about the last twenty four hours. After returning back to the tower, just as he came in he saw Bruce at the door with his luggage, his brow covered with sweat. He explained to the Captain that he was going to have to find a hotel to stay at for the next couple days. Steve didn't get the exact details of what went down in the tower while he was gone, but Bruce said he was leaving for a matter of safety.    
  
Steve later presumed this was due to Tony's actions. While Steve and Tony hadn't had a confrontation personally, he got the sense that Tony wasn't handling Clint’s death well. He tried to give Tony some privacy, to cope and handle on his own. Steve told himself that this was what Tony needed. But, he would overhear Tony in his workplace, blasting rock music, and even over the music he would hear the occasional clang of metal parts, being thrown across the shop in an act of rage.   
  
He also experienced times where he almost walked into what sounded like Tony and Pepper fighting, Pepper's voice was passive but stern, but Tony's was frenetic and frustrated. Steve wouldn't meddle in their relationship, but the empty bottles of various types of alcohol that Steve would occasionally find around the tower also worried him. But the most unnerving thing Steve noticed, was when he overheard what sounded like someone softly crying in Tony's workroom last night.    
  
He decided he would try to talk to Tony sometime today, but the truth was Steve felt very helpless. He didn't know how to make Tony feel better, he didn't even know how to make himself feel better. That's why he came up here, on the isolated windy roof of the Tower, to try and clear his head.    
  
From the time the sun was nowhere in sight, till it began to slowly rise above the horizon, Steve sat quietly in thought. Half the time his head lowered against clasped hands, in deep reflection over the events of the last week. He thought of another time he came up on this roof, following his release from the hospital after he fell off a helicarrier and was pulled out of the Potomac River.    
  
His face was still bruised from the fight between him and his best friend. However that morning, his mind was clouded with the conflict on whether to pursue his friend, or not. Of course he knew he had to, but he also realized that the rest of his team may not agree. That he could lose the family he shared this tower with, if he went after Barnes.    
  
It wasn't shortly after Steve came up, that Clint Barton also found himself on that roof. Clint had come up here more often than even Steve, because the archer had found much peace in the elevated isolated setting. In the months that followed his slow recovery from Loki's control, Clint had spent hours up here, and sometimes Natasha accompanied him as well. Steve could remember the days when they were still just dating, that they would spend their nights up here after long missions. 

  
But now Steve remembered clearly that one morning. Clint stood and leaned against the railing around the roof, his grey blue eyes looking out at the city below before giving Steve a grateful smile as he thanked him for keeping Natasha safe during SHIELD's fall. Steve went on to tell him everything. Parts of what happened, Clint had already heard from Natasha, but his wife had also neglected to go into detail about The Winter Soldier's evolvement in it all.    
  
It was during that conversation that somehow Steve let slip his conflict about what to do regarding Bucky. While he was expecting Clint to possibly get defensive, instead the thoughtful archer offered his simple opinion. 

  
_ "He had no idea what he was doing, that was HYDRA's actions, not his..."  _ Clint had said.   
__  
_ "But I don't want to drag everyone into this, Stark would never agree."  _ __  
__  
_ "Then don't, go solo. Or take just a few of us, I'd be up for tagging along. But you can't let the government decide his fate. If we imprisoned everyone who did crimes when they weren't in control of themselves, I wouldn't be here."  _ __  
__  
After a brief pause between the two, Clint continued,    
  
_ "Having your mind messed with, I mean it's hard. Your friend needs you, because you're probably the only one who can help him."  _ __  
__  
_ "But Clint, you do know what he did to Natasha...?"  _ __  
__  
_ "Yeah, I was the first to get to her when she was hospitalized for that gunshot wound in Iran. One of the worst wounds she's ever had, but she told me about her attacker as soon as she gained consciousness."  _ __  
  
Steve still remembered the passionate yet subtle worry in Clint's voice, because at the time Natasha was still recovering from her latest gunshot wound from The Winter Soldier.   
  
_ "But, I would have killed her while I was under Loki's control if she hadn't hit me over the head. Who am I to hold what your friend did against him, when I indirectly caused Coulson's death? Go after him, Steve."  _ __  
  
Steve grasped the railing of the roof, looking down at the now lit city below. The sun had finally rose, as Steve remembered Clint's words. That conversation suddenly became more of a distant memory as Steve remembered seeing Clint laying lifeless in a casket several days ago. Running a hand over his face, Steve's new dilemma was on how to pull the team through this. While in theory the Captain always figured if something like this happened, they would pull through together. But in reality, the team's loss was starting to divide them all.    
  
It was as Steve was staring out at the blue sky above the horizon line, and a crisp breeze blew over him, that he turned around to the sound of the staircase to the roof's door opened. Steve was surprised to see Tony emerge from the stairwell, and walk towards him.    
  
Tony avoided Steve's eye contact, but if it weren't for his hardly noticeable insecure gestures, he would have looked completely normal to anyone else.    
  
"Hey Tony..." Steve said in a cautiously soft tone, unable to read what Tony was feeling.    
  
Tony gave Steve what looked like a forced "I'm okay" smile, as he approached Steve and asked,   
  
"What are you doing up here?"    
  
"Couldn't sleep I guess. And you?"    
  
"Well you aren't the only one. But no, I've been up for awhile, it's just I thought I'd bring you this..." Tony said as he held out Steve's cell phone.    
  
"You might want to return that call," He said in a slightly sharp voice.   
  
Taking the phone, Steve felt his heart sink in regret as it said Missed Call: Natasha Romanoff. Gritting his jaw, frustrated at the fact that he indirectly blew Natasha off, he quickly dialed her number and placed the phone to his ear.    
  
After a few rings, Natasha's voice rang over the line,    
  
"Steve?"    
  
"Hey Nat, I'm sorry I missed your call, are you ok-"    
  
"It's, it's fine Steve don't worry..I'm okay I just...."    
  
There was a pause and Steve didn't say anything. He figured she was just trying to figure out how to say, whatever she needed to.    
  
"Could you come over, I...there's a lot..."    
  
Her voice trailed off as she spoke, but her words were spoken in defeat. Steve wasn't sure the last time he had remembered Natasha ever calling out for help, and he realized how much it took her to call for his help.    
  
"You don't have to explain, I'll head over now. Just hang in there, okay?"    
  
"Okay," she said in such a quiet and forlorn tone, that Steve couldn't help but worry that she was all alone. 

  
"I'll be over soon."    
  
"Thank you."    
  
Lowering his phone after she hung up, Steve almost forgot Tony was still there. Looking up at him, Steve assumed he wanted to know what was going on and so he said calmly,   
  
"That was Natasha."    
  
There was a pause as Steve looked down, and said with his head still lowered,    
  
“I told her I'd be right over, you should come too. I think she could use all the support she can get."    
  
"No, I think I'm good. Group "therapy" isn't really my thing." Tony said indifferently.    
  
Nodding to himself Steve said "okay" under his breath, as he proceeded towards the door. But as he was about to walk down the stairs, he turned back to Tony as he said suddenly,    
  
"You know, we can't let this tear us apart."    
  
Turning his head sharply towards him, Tony's tired eyes met Steve's as he calmly tilted his head and sunk his hands into his pockets.    
  
"What exactly are you trying to get at here now, Rogers?"    
  
Taking a few steps back towards Tony, Steve spoke confidently but also calmly, as he was trying to come across as supportive, even if he would slightly fail at doing so.    
  
"You've shut us all out, Tony. You don't have to do this alone, you know. We can't pull apart in a time when we all need each other."    
  
"Maybe I don't need anyone else. Maybe, I want to be alone. After all, this doesn't seem like the time for team get togethers. We all need time off."    
  
"Pepper's worried...your behavior drove Bruce out. Natasha probably thinks you're indifferent to all that has happened, even if she won't say it."    
  
Tony's hands formed into fists at his side, as he turned sharply towards Steve and said, the smallest hints of sarcasm fading suddenly as he spoke coldly, 

  
"You have no idea how I feel. You don't know what Bruce is feeling, or Natasha, so don't act like you have all the answers. And don't make assumptions about me and Pepper either, because that has nothing to do with this."    
  
There was a pause between the two, as Tony turned away, expecting that to be the end of the discussion. But Steve stood firm, as he took a few steps even closer to Tony and saying in a passive yet still gentle voice,    
  
"We've fought through a lot together, but we'll get through this together too."    
  
"You see, that's the issue here..." Tony remarked in a perturbed voice.    
  
Steve stood still, as Tony turned to face him directly. This time Tony wasn't hesitant to look Steve in the eye, and as he did Steve found himself not wanting to hold his gaze. Tony's eyes were bloodshot, and cold, yet tired, and Steve was beginning to regret making him even more upset.    
  
"How long did you think we could keep this invincible hero act up? Sure, it was all fun and games...until someone got hurt. We can't just go back now, and put on that heroic act again. It doesn't work like that.” 

 

There was a tense moment of silence between the two. Steve lowered his head, thinking of what he could say to argue back, but he didn't want to argue. But Tony continued, 

 

“You can preach all you want about us sticking together, but the reality is, we'll never be together again. We'll never be the team we used to be, so don't act like we will be."    
  
"As long as we stick together, we'll always be a team."    
  
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."    
  
Steve suddenly lost pity for Tony, despite knowing he was in a rather unstable position. He glared at Tony as he took a step even closer, the two practically at each other's throats as Steve said defiantly,    
  
"Barton didn't give his life for one of our own, just for all of us to give up what we've had for six years now. He wouldn't have wanted this."    
  
"Barton's fucking dead, he can't "want" anything anymore."    
  
"Doesn't matter, you know he wouldn't want this from us."    
  
"Yeah, well, maybe he should have thought about that before recklessly charging into every mission, guns blazing, oblivious to what could happen."    
  
"He wasn't any more reckless than any of us," Steve challenged.    
  
"No, he wasn't. But he wasn't a god, or a super soldier, or a hulk. He didn't have armor, or a shield. We all knew he would push himself at times. Well he pushed himself too far this time."    
  
"He held his own with us, he was more than capable of fighting with the team. It could have happened to any of us, there's casualties in war, you know that Tony."    
  
"But we all knew he'd be the first."   
  
Steve felt his own jaw tightening, his blue eyes growing sharp, and he heard his heartbeat in his ears. He felt a heat of blood rush to his face, as he said boldly,   
  
"You've got some nerve to talk like that. He was our friend."    
  
"He broke this team."    
  
Steve took a step towards Tony, arm raised as if he was going to let his fist hit Stark's face, but instead he exhaled slowly and lowered his arm, saying in a now authoritative voice,    
  
"Have some damn respect, Tony. Don't blame Clint for any of this, he couldn't help what happened. If he could, he would have never have left Natasha. He would have never left us."    
  
Looking away from Steve completely, Tony said finally, his voice was hurt and cracked as he spoke, 

 

"Well, that doesn't change the fact that he did leave us."    
  
Steve walked away without another word. As he turned to shut the door behind him, he saw Tony's head fall into his hands, but he shut the door and kept walking anyways. It was as Steve made his way downstairs that he ran right into Pepper, who frantically asked, "Where's Tony?"    
  
Steve directed her towards the rooftop, and just as she moved quickly in that direction, Steve caught sight of what Pepper had found. The cabinet of alcohol that was half full the night before, was empty. As Steve left the tower, he began to regret his anger towards Tony, especially as he reflected back on what just happened. While Steve was occupied by his rage, at the mention of Clint, Tony’s eyes would dart downward insecurely. He wasn't handling his emotions right, but Tony’s words came from a place of great grief for his friend. 

 

Steve also began to think, that even if it was mostly the alcohol talking, that Tony had a point. The answer wouldn't be as simple as just sticking together, and nothing would be the same, no matter how much Steve would like to believe otherwise.    
  
\-    
  
There was a gentle knock on the door as Steve stood outside the apartment. The air was still, but dark clouds in an unsaturated sky preluded the fact that rain was soon to come. Steve waited for only a moment before the door slowly opened.    
  
Natasha didn't have time to address Steve before she was putting a hand back, as if to hold back the dog. She was so used to doing so, because Lucky would usually always run outside at any chance he had. But as soon as Lucky saw who it was at the door, he just lowered his head onto his paws, uninterested in getting up. Natasha looked at Steve as he smiled sadly at the dog, as he came in.    
  
Natasha watched as Steve kneeled down next to Lucky, and softly stroked his coat. Lucky didn't seem to notice.    
  
"Hey Luck." Steve said softly, as he pat his head before standing up.    
  
Natasha tried to smile to show her appreciation of Steve coming over, but her smile was restricted, and her sad eyes contradicted any optimistic gestures she tried to make. Steve put a hand on her shoulder as he asked,    
  
"You okay?"    
  
"Yeah...I mean no, but considering everything..."    
  
Steve nodded gently, as he watched her stutter, unable to formulate her thoughts. The fact that she couldn't carry a conversation spoke to Steve the extent of which she was suffering, because Natasha was the most punctual and well spoke person he knew.    
  
"You're holding on...that's the only thing you can do, right?"    
  


She only nodded half heartedly, eyes still avoiding Steve’s.   
  
Steve noticed the apartment was considerably cold, so cold Natasha wore a black jacket over her black tank and pants. Her hands trembled slightly, and while Steve wasn't certain that was because of the cold, he figured the cold wasn't helping. Steve walked over the to the thermostat, as he looked to Natasha and asked,    
  
"Mind if I?"    
  
She shook her head, and he turned the air condition down. Natasha only stood in silence, and so to initiate a conversation Steve asked, 

  
"Did you have breakfast?" 

  
"I had some tea, if that counts." 

 

Steve opened the fridge to find it empty besides a half carton of eggs and several bottles of Budweisers. It was obvious then to Steve that Natasha hadn’t placed any priority on eating over the past few days she had been home, and that she probably didn’t even have food in her apartment. He knew she hadn’t gone out to get anything, because the eggs were one day expired, and she didn’t drink Budweiser, that was always Clint’s drink. Steve was close enough to the two to know that. 

 

Pulling one bottle out and opening it, Steve said as he walked to the door, 

 

“You know what, I’m going to run to the store real quick and get you some food to last awhile. If you’d like to come…” 

 

Natasha slowly walked up to him, shaking her head as she said hollowly, but her tone was tired, almost too tired to object, 

 

“You don’t have to.” 

 

“No, I do. We look out for each other, you and I,” Steve said devotedly. 

 

-

 

Steve returned an hour later, and for a quiet twenty minutes or so, he and Natasha calmly put away everything. The heavy grey clouds casted a darkness over the apartment, and as they worked Steve remarked casually, trying to initiate a conversation, 

 

“Looks like it’s going to rain.” 

 

Natasha stood up from where she kneeled near the cupboards, and her thoughtful green eyes looked outside. 

 

“I hope it does. I don’t think it’s rained once this month,” She spoke, but her voice was distant. As if she was only speaking to speak, but her true thoughts wandered aimlessly far from here. 

 

After a while Steve told Natasha to sit down, because her every movement was lethargic. Natasha didn’t even argue, as she fell back into a chair, her posture loose and slumped, as if she couldn’t even sit up straight. Steve warmed up a mug of hot water for her, and as she steeped another cup of tea, the soldier attempted to cook for her. The bitterly cold apartment was suddenly warmed by the heat of the stovetop, as Steve cooked bacon and eggs. There wasn’t much talking between the two, but instead the crisp sizzles of cooking bacon, and the sweet savory smells that filled the kitchen area, brought a sense of life back into the apartment. Even Lucky wandered away from the door and into the kitchen, pacing around Steve’s heels, eyes keenly looking for food. 

 

Steve attempted to try and make pancakes as well, but when the recipe started calling for him to use an automatic whisk, he defeatedly admitted that he had no idea what that was. Sliding off the barstool, despite Steve’s protests for her to stay seated, Natasha came over and showed him such “advanced” cooking technology. After assisting him, she stayed to continue to help cook. Her nimble fingers worked to add hints of brown sugar and another sweet spice, that she told Steve would taste very good. 

 

After the batter was made, Natasha helped guide Steve’s hand when it came to flipping the pancakes. Steve somehow wasn’t surprised that she had perfected the technique of flipping the pancakes so they came out golden and cooked evenly on both sides. 

 

But as the two sat down to eat, Natasha about blew Steve’s mind when she told him that there was such thing as frozen pancakes, that warmed up in about a minute, no mixing or batter making required. Somehow the two got off on talking about seemingly random things, but Steve was hoping this would happen. It was an odd but somehow effective way of having her escape from everything for a few minutes. As the two talked about how cereal, of all things, had changed so much since 1945, Steve slipped Lucky a piece of bacon. Natasha shook her head and somehow smiled at the sight as she said, 

 

“You’re just as bad as Clint. He would slip Lucky the worst sort of things, pizza, cookies, you name it. I doubt I’ll ever be able to break that dog of the whole begging habit.” 

 

Her tone was less forlorn, but there was a tightness to her voice that indicated that what she spoke still hurt to think about. 

 

Steve gave a small smile as he leaned down to pet the dog, as Natasha regressed back to a reserved silent state. Steve pretended to be preoccupied as he waited for her to talk again. He was willing to wait as long as he needed to, because he knew he couldn’t force her to say what she needed to. She would open up to him in time. 

 

Standing up to clean both of their plates, Steve was pleased to see Natasha ate. Natasha waited until Steve was behind her in the kitchen, before she spoke up quietly, 

 

“I tried cleaning out all of his stuff this morning. I thought if I could get it all out of here, maybe it would make living here without him a little easier.” 

 

Steve stopped moving, and waited patiently for her to continue, and she did, slowly but her voice distant, 

 

“I wanted to be ready to move on, but I didn’t even know where to start.”

 

Steve walked back over slowly, and pulled a chair to sit in front of her. Before he could say anything she continued, looking down and away from him, 

 

“I was overwhelmed, because even if I remove every reminder of him, it won’t make a difference. This was his home before it was mine, and any attempt I make to move on seems wrong.” 

 

“It's not wrong to move on, Nat.” 

 

“No, I know. It just feels wrong. I just don't really know what to do now.” 

 

“I don't know either,” Steve said in defeat. For once the valiant Captain had no answer or guidance. 

 

“I need to move on, I know that. But no matter what I do, this will always be our home. Except it’s just mine now.” 

 

Steve’s head was bowed and his jaw clenched, as he tried to find the right words to say to his very unstable friend. 

 

“Have you ever considered moving out then? I mean you could come stay with me for awhile.” 

 

She shook her head sharply, 

 

“No, I’d never leave. Like I said, this is my home.” 

 

She turned her head towards him, her gestures soft but her eyes pleading for help she finally looked him in the eye and said, 

 

“I just can’t do this alone.” 

 

Steve leaned forward in his chair, and slowly so not to be abrasive, wrapped his arms around her. While her posture was stiff, she loosened under his hold, and wrapped her own arms around him. Leaning into him, she relaxed and closed her eyes, as she exhaled slowly. She let her whole body fall into his for support, and somehow she found comfort in his embrace. For awhile they just sat there, until Steve quietly whispered, 

 

“You don’t have to be alone.” 

 

Steve could feel her head nod, as she held onto him even tighter.


End file.
